Nine Lives
by Tootytots1
Summary: Carl Grimes has been alone for a while now, just surviving. Then he finds a book, a lone survivor just like him wrote it. As he reads he doesn't feel so alone anymore. But who wrote the book? And where are they?
1. The Book

Nine Lives

It was chestnut brown, worn around the spine. The corners; over loved, over touched, so much so they curved slightly outwards. Memo's shimmered gold, stamped amidst the brown, someone had gone at the M with a biro, colouring a shadow like the letter had donned a pair of shoes.

Carl gazed at it for a long time. He couldn't remember why he picked up the small leather book, he couldn't think what had made it so important. What he did know was that when he held it in his hands, he felt certain it was meant for him. He realised it was foolish, there was no destiny anymore, no written in the stars. There was just life and death and he tried desperately at life every moment of every day, and sometimes he forget why.

No rhyme or reason.

It just was.

He looked out the window, it was the large bay type, giving the occupants a sweeping view of the world outside. The sun was setting behind a bank of trees that grew into the horizon, setting them ablaze. Carl found himself stilled by the sight, the sheer beauty of it making his breath catch. His eye tracked the suns progress until it fell out of sight. He frowned at the floor, shifting on his feet uncomfortably, uncertain how to deal with the normal action of watching a sunset. He gradually righted himself, covering the window blackout curtains he'd made from old bed covers and black paint, securing it in place before going through his usual rounds.

Carl had found that loneliness, while dangerous, had its advantages, no one fucked up, and if shit hit the fan that it was his fault, no questions asked. A routine had developed, like the routine of getting ready for school, the timetabled day he used to hold in his hand, wandering from class to class. It had been so easy to fall into, and useful too.

First, the doors. Barricaded, and secured. Yosemite bowline knot around the handle and piece of furniture pressed up against the wood. Then he'd pull on the handle, hard. Once, twice. He'd found that sleep was virtually impossible unless he checked each door. Apocalypse related OCD, he had to laugh about it; there was no time to worry about things such as sanity, not when insanity kept his heart beating. If the world ever did find its feet again, he thought about putting his name to it like all the greats; Grimes Disorder, the obsessive checking of doors. Had a ring to it.

Next stock check; each item unpacked; Three cans of beans, piece of venison wrapped in, what used to be, someone's handkerchief, one large can of peaches and a small bag of cereal. Then each item went back into his trusty green rucksack, he'd relieved from the body of a man not much older than him. He'd been trying to get into the house Carl had taken refuge in, crying for help. Carl stilled as he remembered the fear etched on his face. He didn't like the look of fear, it reminded him too readily of the weakness that lay within him, waiting to kill him.

Next his knives, each cleaned till they shone and he could see his worn face reflected on their surface. Sometimes he sat there staring at himself, not recognising the person gazing back. He had the same problem when he came across mirrors, something always made him pause. Each knife would be placed in a row, finger space apart, in order of size. Then he'd touch each of them on their fabric wrapped handle, just to make sure they were there, just to make sure they were real.

Next his gun, M1911 pistol; single action, semi-automatic. His trusty friend. Each night he would gently take it apart, cleaning it till his hands warmed the metal, then he'd put it back together and place it in front of him, his finger tracing the trigger. Then he'd count his ammunition. It had been a grand total of 2 bullets before he'd seen that man, now only one stood proudly next to the gun, and that one was for him.

One day he would. His hand wouldn't shake, he wouldn't cry. He'd just do it. The cold barrel to his temple, death loaded and ready to blow his brains out. But he wanted to live so bad, he knew he did, because every night he'd place the one bullet next to the gun, and every night he'd load it. And every day he lived.

One more check of the doors, tug at each of the handles.

Once.

Twice.

Then it was time to sleep.

He would lie on his back and stare into the darkness, hearing things he knew weren't there, but it always felt like they were just across the room, staring at him as he stared into the darkness.

Now though he settled on the couch, sneezing as dust clouded in the air. He lit a candle and orange light flickered across the book. With a deep breath, he opened it, holding the front cover delicately between fingers.

There was a small drawing of a beach, a tiny corner of paradise, tucked in the corner of the first page. He traced the lines gently. The rest of the page was filled with delicate slanted handwriting.

He remembered a holiday with his mom and dad, right by the sea, all blue and endless. He closed his eyes; he could feel the warmth of the sun on his skin, feel the water. Then as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone, fading into the black. He opened his eyes quickly, finding the page, and he began to read.

 _I miss the sea_

 _Never thought that the sea would be something I'd ever miss, but here I am; an age away in a stranger's house and the sea a memory I desperately hold onto._

 _I miss the feel of the sand beneath my toes, the smell of the sea air as it crested waves and sent tiny droplets of water scuttling across the surface. My dad always stood on the cliff edge near our house, watching the sea, and I took to standing by him._

 _My dad was one of those men so in tune with the sea, I swear his heart beat with every sigh, came and went with every tide, gentle and constant. My dad said that we weren't meant for the sea, but I swear he was the closest a man could ever get._

 _I suppose I could've stayed there, could've lived out the shit storm watching the sun rise and fall on the horizon, casting red crystals across the blue._

 _I miss the sea._

 _There was something so simplistic and real about the crash of waves on the rocks, like a roar that made my breath catch in wonder and awe._

 _We aren't meant for the sea, but when they died I wished with all of me that I was. That I could walk into the gentle lap of water, let it fall over my toes, and then keep walking. My skin transforming into scales, breath bubbling in the water, as I swam deeper and deeper. I'd see the daylight winking on the surface, and I'd turn away from it._

 _When dad died I let the sea take him. I think it's what he would have wanted, but mostly its because I couldn't bring myself to cover him in earth, never to see the sea again. So I took Adelaide out, struggling with the oars as I heaved and sobbed. The sea was so calm, so quiet, like it knew. Gentle waves rocked the boat, like rocking a small child to sleep._

 _I set him adrift, the sea as ready to receive him as it had ever been. I watched him float way unsure that I'd ever be able to make it back to shore. I thought about joining him, my foot was over the side of Adelaide, could feel the water soaking into my boot._

 _But I'm a coward._

 _So I clung to Adelaide with all the severity that I now cling at life (if you can call it that). Adelaide's red paint stuck beneath my fingernails for days after. When the paint finally washed away I tied Adelaide up for the last time, shut up the house and started to walk._

 _I didn't look back. I couldn't._

 _But now I feel like a part of my heart is still standing on that cliff waiting for my dad to make his way to shore._

 _And it's always going to be there._

A knock jolted Carl out of his reading, pulling him up out of his chair. The candle was blown out and he was by the window in two swift movements. He gently pulled the blackout curtains back, looking out into the night.

Movement on the porch had him crouching slightly out of habit. A walker was bouncing round on the porch, gurgling and moaning stuck between a porch swing and fencing. Carl made his way to his neatly arranged weapons, picking each of them up one by one. One knife in pocket, the other in sheath, and then one tucked in his boot, just in case. The gun loaded and placed in holster. Book in bag, bag on back.

He made his way silently to the bag door, untying the knot and gently removing the dining room chair he'd lodged underneath the handle. He checked the area, the garden was an overgrown mess of all kinds of flowers. Spring had always been his favourite time of year, bright and alive. Now though he barely noticed the beauty of the blooming flowers, payed no attention to the heady perfume in the air. Instead his eye scanned the area, searching desperately for danger, any movement, any threat.

He found none.

He let out the breath he'd been holding, easing his body down the step and out the door. Shutting it behind him. Yosemite bowline knot round the handle, then he was crouching against the house, silently making is way round to the front. He drew the big knife from its sheath on his hip, gripping it in his hand, blade down.

He smelt it before he saw it, the smell of death that barely registered anymore. The heat made it worse, the air was heavy with the smell, close and suffocating. Then as he rounded the porch, he saw it. Skin hanging in clumps from its bones, its jaw dislocated and off to one side, teeth gnashing eating the air in desperate hunger. It was starving, Carl could see that, but who the hell wasn't these days. It sensed him rather than saw him, its eyes rotten in their sockets, stumbling towards the smell of dinner.

Carl gulped. It was a sad sight. As he sunk his knife into its head with the ease of cutting a cake, he wondered who it had been. He never usually thought about the walker's lives before they were walkers, but something about the sorry state of it made him pause and wander. Had it liked the sea? He shook his head, glancing around into the dark. There was nothing, nothing and no one. Just darkness and silence.

Then he headed back inside, untying the knot of the back door, retying it on the inside, replacing the chair under the handle, and then checking the handle. Once. Twice. He went round all the other doors and checked them too.

He cleaned his knife, wiping the black from its surface, then placed each of his knives in order of sizes, a finger space apart, placing one finger on each of the cloth wrapped handles. Then he unloaded his gun, placing the bullet next to it, one finger space apart. Then he gently touched the trigger before making his way back over to the couch, book in hand. He re lit the candle and sat.

He almost smiled at the drawing of an ice cream with a smiley face.

 _I miss ice cream._

 _Vanilla, tucked into the cone, tiny tributaries of the stuff coating your finger. Jenna and I used to run into town for the ice cream, was our Saturday tradition. I can see her running in front of me, her hair billowing behind her, the colour of straw. She'd turn mid stride and look at me giggling at how slow I was._

 _That was the problem with being the little sister._

 _After a while though Jenna stopped running, she used to walk slowly by me, tapping away on her phone. Then she was carrying out our Saturday tradition with anyone but me. I'd see her walking down the hill, her arm linked with some boy. I'd slink behind them, money pressed in hand, a frown on my face and Jimmy walking beside me, always going on about how beautiful Jenna was. He wasn't wrong though, she was beautiful._

 _It's funny, I never used to think about ice cream, not really; there were some I didn't eat, some that I threw into the sea in anger, some that dropped in a vanilla puddle on the floor. The ice cream was always just there, if I'd know that the world was going to end, that the ice cream would run out, I'd have savoured every last drop, every last lick and crunch._

 _My mouth is watering just thinking about it. The weathers really hot today as well, like being in an oven._

 _I know I'm torturing myself but I can't help but lay back and close my eyes, imagining the flavour. It would be heavenly._

 _I'm starting to believe it's possible to mourn food._

Carl gulped, his mouth watering at the thought of ice cream, he couldn't recall the last time he had ice cream, but he remembered the taste; sugary cold and absolutely delicious. Chocolate chip was his favourite, digging out the tiny chunks of chocolate and crushing them between his teeth. He let his head fall back, eyes closing at the thought. Maybe it was possible to mourn food, because he felt the gut wrenching sadness of loss. When he realised that he'd never have ice cream again. Shaking his head he carried on reading.

 _I miss those Saturday traditions, I miss watching Jenna run in front of me. I miss being the slow one._

 _The last time we ran down that hill there was panic in every step, no money in my palm and no ice cream waiting at the bottom. Jenna had turned, tear tracks down her face, she was screaming my name, telling me to hurry up._

 _That's when I found out they are attracted to noise. By then though it was too late, we couldn't take the noise back, I wish every day that we could have._

 _The first bite got her neck, blood bubbling to the surface and out her body, so much blood. She screamed so loud it must have echoed across the sea, right out across the water and beyond. They crowded round her, pushing her to the floor, ripping her apart. The last thing I saw of my sister was her straw coloured hair._

 _I see it every night when I close my eyes, echoes of her pain are still rattling about inside of me. The hurt it causes is undefinable. I remember crying her name, but the syllables caught in my throat. Jimmy was pulling me, and like a puddle of ice cream fallen on the floor, I melted into his arms and let him carry me away._

 _I could have saved her, I could have been quicker._

 _I suppose it's a good job there's no ice cream left, I think it would taste bitter now, and get stuck in my throat, like my sisters name._

Carl closed the book sighing, he'd heard so many stories alike, heck he had a library full of his own, all similar, all tragic, and all real.

He placed the book in his trusty back pack, went round and checked all the doors. He then settled down on the floor by his knives, touching each of them with one finger. He then brushed the trigger of his gun, before lying back and looking into the darkness.

For the first time in a while the sounds in the darkness were of a girl talking about the sea and ice cream. She was retelling the tragic tales of the dad and sister. Carl's dreams were the colour of the sea, straw and vanilla ice cream. Before he drifted off he mumbled to himself, his voice rough and unrecognisable, it had been so long since he'd spoken.

'I miss Chocolate.'

Then he fell asleep.


	2. You Can't Smile At Death

You can't smile at death

Carl jolted awake, he could hear birds singing faintly outside. He lay and listened for a while.

Sometimes he didn't want to get up; another day, more surviving, more killing. He thought maybe if he just lay there the world would stop spinning, time would stop moving. Life would just stop being shit.

He looked at the bullet.

Looked at the gun.

He got up slowly, taking them both in his hands, cradling them for a while, before loading the gun.

He gripped it and sighed, today he'd live. Maybe tomorrow.

The morning saw him checking all the doors, tugging the handles twice before moving to search the house. He'd done a quick scout the night before to check it was clear of walkers or other people, now though he went through each room meticulously searching.

Years ago there had been a wealth of things to find, now though houses had been raped and pillaged, so many strangers had come and gone, their boots marking the carpets, their thieving hands leaving cupboards bare, leaving house empty. Still he checked every cupboard systematically, finding nothing but dust and emptiness.

Then it was the rooms. He'd been through so many rooms; bedrooms, studies, nurseries, frozen in dusty memories, trapped in this weird limbo, derelict shrines of people he didn't know, people he didn't care about. Clothes strewn on floors, beds unmade, panic like a musty smell in the air. The family photos in proud frames on dressing tables and mantelpiece's. Carl hated the photos. They were constant reminders of how things used to be, how they would never be again. Sometimes he smashed the frames. So angry, so sad, so jealous that they were happy forever and he couldn't find happiness for a second. Now though he gave them little more than a passing glance.

There was a dead baby.

Someone had shot it in the head.

He'd seen it before, young children tucked into their beds, a small hole between their eyes. A strange look of peace on their faces. Decay had taken over now though.

Carls stomach turned, he wretched once and closed the door. He thought of Judith. Little Ass Kicker. He fell against the door desperately trying not to think about it. He didn't want to think about anyone. The worry, the sadness. It all distracted him, made him weak.

He couldn't be weak.

Posters of women in various stages of undress collaged the inside of the wardrobe door of the next room. He blushed slightly at the images, looking away embarrassed.

Then he noticed the coat. Grey, worn, multi-pocketed. Perfect. He pulled it out slowly, feeling the material beneath his fingertips. He shrugged it on, moving his long hair out the way with a scowl. It fit him, fit him well. With a nod he closed the wardrobe door, shutting away the posters. He left the room.

He took each item out his bag; Three cans of beans, venison wrapped in a handkerchief, one can of peaches, one small bag of cereal which he ate for breakfast, and one book. He packed them away; the beans, the venison, the peaches, the book and added the coat, the rope from round the door handles, a candle, matches and his homemade black out curtains.

He picked up each knife individually, one in his pocket, one in its sheath, the other in his boot just in case. Then he placed the gun in its holster.

He stood at the front door, catching sight of himself in the hall mirror. It was small and decorative, patterns winding their way all around the edge of the mirror, a crack ran horizontally through the middle. He was certain they used to have one just like it at their house, one that mom had brought. He remembered the weight of it as he carried it into the house.

He didn't look real; lack of food had made him skinny, constant walking had made him lean, all the fighting had left scars, and death had left its shadow. He touched his reflection. He looked less human every day.

'Who are you?' He mumbled, and the reflection answered with the same question.

'I'm alive.' He and the reflection spoke together, and with a nod they parted ways. Him into the broken, messed up world, the reflection into the black of his memory.

The sun was high and hot, birds were singing happily and Carl was walking, every inch of his skin painted in the rotting blood of the walker he'd put down on the porch. His new coat was folded in his bag.

'Put the bag down, boy.' The voice came from behind him, he paused. He should have been more careful, he knew that.

He raised his hands slowly.

'That's it, nice and slow.' The bag hit the floor with a clunk.

'Turn around.' He did, his boots scraping the gravel beneath his feet.

The man was old, his back bent, his face twisted in fear, his weight shifting from one foot to the other nervously, but the hands that held the gun were still, still and trained on Carl.

'Drop the gun and the knife, boy.' He gestured slightly with the gun at the two weapons hanging round Carl's waist. The man's hair was long, long and white and brittle, caked in blood and other filth. It fell down onto his shoulder in a drab matt. The man's grey shirt was splattered with old blood. Carl made a promise to himself that he wouldn't add to it.

'Drop them.' He warned, gun raising slightly, punctuating his words with the threat of death. Carl let the gun fall to the earth. Then his knife.

'Step back.' He did, one then two. The man followed him, shuffling forward gun lowering slightly with every step. The man should have known.

It was fine when he knelt down, fine when he opened the bag. He was still looking, still had the gun on Carl, but the book distracted him, just for one moment, one pause, one heartbeat. But it was enough. All the grey hair, all the age. Had he learnt nothing? Carl shook his head as he grabbed a fistful of the man's long white hair, dug his fingernails into the matted grime and blood and yanked. The man panicked, trying to stay on his feet, trying to raise his gun, but it was pointless. Carl pushed his knife under his chin and up into his brain. The man gurgled his last words, and they poured out in big gushes of blood, warm and thick. It smelt tangy and dried quickly on his hands.

He should've known better, should have known that this was the way it worked.

'I had to, him or me, him or me,' Carl mumbled, explaining himself to thin air as he searched the body. One gun, not loaded. One small pocket knife and a photo of a young couple, folded in half. He kept the knife, placing it in his jeans pocket, wiping the blood off his hands, streaking the denim red. He kept the gun, placing it in his bag. He left the photo. He looked at the man, his face frozen in surprise, wrinkled skin stretched over bone. He looked a bit like Hershel, but Hershel was dead too. Long gone. So the likeness didn't matter anymore.

'I have to live, you or me. You should know.' Then he stood looking at him one final time, Carl nodded once, the man was dead, and he needed to cut his hair.

 _I miss smiling._

 _To have something to smile at. Miss the ache of it in my cheeks, miss the dimple and curve of it. I don't even know if can smile anymore. What is there to smile about?_

 _How can you live with death and smile?_

 _Where is the joy? Where is the laughter?_

 _I loved the way my mom smiled, it was big. Reached right up and fell into her eyes, she sparkled happiness. Everyone used to say I had my mom's smile. It used to make me so proud._

 _I tried practice smiling in the mirror. I was in someone else's house, standing in their hallway looking at myself. I didn't recognize me. The smile was forced, more like a grimace, unnatural, unreal. Not my moms._

 _I was a ghost, a ghost of something I knew had been there once, I was certain of it. But I couldn't see it anymore, not even a trace. Only shadows._

 _The man I killed today, I wonder if he still smiled from time to time? I went at his face with a rock, tears mixing with the blood and bone. It was a mess, it got in my hair, on my clothes, all the way up my arms, traces of it all over me._

 _I can't smile like mom anymore. I miss it._

 _I miss the way my belly used to hurt from laughing. What is that? I don't think I can do that anymore either._

 _He'd just wanted food, but I needed it. Needed it more than him. I have to live, I have to. I don't know why, but I guess there doesn't have to be a reason, living is the reason._

 _He misjudged me, turned his back on me, showed me the balding patch on the back of his head. The first blow went right there, caving it in, like a dent. He fought with everything he had, he wanted to live to, but I wanted it more. I couldn't breathe, couldn't move. I just thought of mom, mom and her smile. Mom and her laughter. And how she wouldn't do that again. Ever._

 _I broke the mirror. Shattered it on the floor and cried. My smile, my one gift from my mother, all I had left of her. I couldn't do it anymore. Couldn't sparkle happiness. And no matter how much I try I can't get this blood off my hands._

 _Death walks like a shadow with me, I feel it._

 _And you can't smile at death._


	3. Just To Be Heard

Just To Be Heard

Very often the thoughts distracted him. They had names, they had faces, voices; and they called out to him. Uncertain and strange at first, then louder, so much louder. Until they drowned out the world with their words, till he could have sworn they were real, just by the side of him.

'I have to get it,' he mumbled.

He was lying on the cold tiled floor of a small corner store. The few abandoned undesirables were littered on the floor, and lay like fallen soldiers on the shelves. All of them unwanted.

Apart from one bottle of water.

It must have fallen in the chaos, must have rolled underneath the shelves, waiting silently for him. He always checked under the shelves.

 _You never know what people have dropped and kicked under there._ He nodded at his dad's words.

'That's why I'm doing this.' He reached for the bottle again, licking his chapped lips in anticipation.

 _Why the kids toy?_ He wasn't there, his dad wasn't with him, hadn't been for so long, but he could have sworn…His voice had been so close, so loud. Like if he turned he'd be there, part of him hoped. He hoped with everything as he turned his head. Nothing. No one. Just shelves and silence.

Carl glanced at his left hand. He didn't remember picking it up, had no reason to; but the stuffed dog was gazing at him with glassy eyes. Its tongue lolling out the side of his mouth. Carl swallowed the tears choking him, and looked at the door secured shut with a Yosemite bowline knot. He concentrated on it, gritting his teeth.

'I got it for Judith,' he mumbled as explanation. His dad's voice didn't question. He went back to retrieving the bottle.

He'd had water, had plenty of it, along with a stock pile of food. He'd carted it all around in a marvel backpack. He remembered counting it out, lining it up with pride, then packing it all away, one by one. He'd had more weapons then too. But he'd been stupid, he'd been so carless it made him want to scream. Now all his carefully collected treasures were getting under the feet of walkers.

In the uncertain days that followed he made himself a promise, muttered it over and over. He would take everything with him, everywhere he went. So he did.

His hand gripped the bottle, his eye fell closed in relief. It was real. He gripped harder and it didn't disappear. Lack of water had led to some pretty interesting hallucinations, tricking him, fooling him. He'd stumbled towards them, hands outstretched, and then they'd gone, falling between his fingers into nothingness. But the water, the water was real.

He sat back on the floor, resting his back against the shelves, gazing at the bottle. Someone had drawn a smiley face on the cap, he pressed his finger against it gently, his own lips twitching in recognition. Cuts opened on his lips and it hurt, but he carried on smiling, giddy with awe and joy. He could still smile, the sting of it told him it was real.

He unscrewed the lid cautiously, careful not to spill even one drop. The first sip that made its way down his throat was something akin to strawberries and cream. Like his memory of chocolate. It was sublime. To think he never used to like water. Now he was sure he'd never tasted anything so perfect. Like heaven on his tongue. It took all his self-restraint not to gulp down the rest, instead he had a couple more sips then replaced the lid. Screwing the lid back on, watching the smiley face spin.

He got up slowly, still holding the stuffed dog. With a sigh he placed the water in the bag, then after a moments deliberation put the dog in there too. If he ever did see Judith again she might like it. He nodded at the thought. Yes he would keep it, it wasn't like it was heavy.

He undid the knot at the door slowly, watching the rope unravel. He marvelled at how something so strong and secure could just unravel, just fall apart if you knew which bit to untie. Sometimes he admitted the fact that he'd unravelled long ago, other days though he liked to pretend.

He opened the door slightly glancing out. Then closed it again, breath caught in his throat, his heart racing. There was a horde wondering through the street, a march of death going right past his door. He tied the knot again with fumbling fingers, making sure to stay silent, stay quiet. They wouldn't find him. They didn't know he was there.

He wondered to the back of the shop, the back was safer. He opened the door slipping into the dark office, closing the door silently behind him. He slid down the wood, folding onto the floor, heaving breaths, his heart still racing. No matter how long it had been, no matter how many he had killed, they still scared him. They still shocked him to a standstill, and sent his heart racing a mile a minute.

When he'd calmed down, he slowly unpacked his stuff and placed them in a line, then he repacked each item one by one, tiny stuffed dog was the last to go on the pile. Then he cleaned his knives, laying them all out, then he took the guns apart, cleaned them, and put them back together again, one bullet standing in between them. He thought he could see the old man looking back at him in his new knife. He was still shocked. _You're a monster._ He mouthed.

Carl sat for a moment, then nodded. 'I know.'

Taking the book, candle and matches, he sat in the swivel office chair, placing the candle on the wooden desk, lighting it and opening the book.

There was a small drawing of radio, notes rising from its speakers and spilling out the top of the page, and a shoe resting up against it.

 _I miss music._

 _Jimmy and I used to take out Adelaide, radio stowed away in one of the seats. I'd lie on my back, let my legs dangle over the side, the sea tickling my toes. The music would fall around us, calming and beautiful._

 _We had our own little part of paradise just off shore, and the music was what made it._

 _There's no music anymore. Nothing melodic and beautiful._

 _It's been so long since I heard music I struggle to remember tunes, struggle to remember lyrics. They jumble together in my head, along with all the voices I wish weren't there. Maybe the voices have always been there, I just had the music to drown them out. Maybe they've always just wanted to be heard. I hear them now._

 _They sound like dad, they sound like Jenna, they sound like mom and Jimmy._

 _Jimmy used to mumble songs in my ear, he had a nice voice. Soft and easy. Notes would fall into existence and I would marvel at them._

 _Sometimes I wish I could sing._

 _I'd climb atop the houses and blast out a melody. Maybe the world would hear me, maybe it would bring everything back, and it would make the voices be silent._

 _I'm tone deaf though, always have been._

 _There was a note on the door written in chalk. There's someone out there somewhere with one boot. I've affectionately called him the limping bandit._

Carl paused, gazing down at the words. He couldn't be. Could he? He felt the nickname tugging him onto the pages. He felt like they were meeting for the first time. He touched the words with his finger, they were real. Then he cursed at the blot of walker blood stamped as a finger print on the page. He smudged it away with his sleeve.

 _I wonder if they're alive. I hope so._

 _Bet they've lost both shoes by now._

 _It's strange how we walk in and out of each other lives without ever really knowing each other. Whether I live or die doesn't matter to them, and I guess they don't matter to me. But we've shared the same hall, and stood at the same door, me tuneless, them one shoe less_

 _I'm glad it didn't get the limping bandit. I hope wherever they are they are alive._

 _We're like ships in the night._

 _I'm sure there was a song about that, I can't remember. I wish I could. I wish the voices weren't so loud._

 _Even though I can't sing I would try. I'd hum a melody for the limping bandit._

 _Just to be heard over all the noise._

Carl stilled and watched the flame flicker. For the first time in a while he felt like he had been heard, and all the noises all the voices didn't matter.

'I'm alive,' he whispered into the dark. He stupidly hoped that somewhere out there she was still listening. With a shake of his head he put the book away, checked the knot and the door, blew out the candle and tried desperately to sleep.


	4. Sharing Lonely

Sharing Lonely

 _I forgot how much I missed conversation._

 _It's been so long, that when it came to talking, I couldn't. Silence surrounded me, and I stared into it. My mouth opened and closed but no words came out._

 _The gun was pointed at my head. I had a feeling that if I didn't talk she wouldn't let me live, and I really wasn't afraid. I know I should have been. But I thought maybe that now it was time, maybe I could just settle into it, let her do for me what I couldn't. Even though I'd thought about it every single day since I lost them all. I'd be with dad, we'd be by the sea, watching the tide come in._

' _I'll ask you one more time, are you alone?'_

 _I nodded. Yes, yes I was, and had been for so long._

 _Her hair was short and grey. In another life she might have been striking, might have been beautiful. But in this world she wasn't really either, she was just surviving, and that did ugly things to people._

' _How old are you?' I hadn't been asked that in so many years. How old was I? When had the world fallen apart? What the hell even was the date? How was I supposed to talk when I couldn't even breathe?_

' _Does it matter?' She shrugged, accepting my answer and lowering the gun some more. I concentrated on the sound of my voice still echoing in my ears. I was sure it wasn't mine, but it had come out of my mouth. I resisted the urge to touch my throat, make sure that everything was okay. I felt like there was a stranger wearing my skin, still do. Perhaps a monster took my body over while I wasn't looking, I wouldn't be surprised._

' _When did you last eat?' her voice seemed softer, almost delicate. Like she was peeking over the iron walls surrounding herself. A little of the beauty showing through the grey, a little bit of light in the darkness. As I looked into it, I began to cry. Began to sob. My knees buckled into the dirt, and she watched me. After an age of my tears filling the silence she gently pulled me to my feet, her striking blue eyes meeting mine._

' _Don't cry. It won't change things. You have to survive. You have to be strong.' Her words were strong and forceful just like her, but her voice was soft._

' _I killed a man.' I mumbled. I'd killed others, but his blood was still on my hands, and I was certain that she could see it._

' _Don't ever apologise. It's you or them. Which do you want it to be?' I didn't answer her, but I stopped crying. Just like that. Like someone turned off the tap. Had I been so ready to give up? Had I wanted so desperately for her to shoot me?_

' _When did you last eat?'_

 _I followed her into the house she was staying in, it was small house, had a nice porch. It was the type of house I used to look at; I'd think about myself as an old woman, sat with a blanket on my lap and a world behind my eyes. Now it just looked like a shell holding all the humanity left on the earth. The humanity was the shape and size of a can of mandarins._

 _The syrup dripped down my chin, and I forgot where I was. They tasted beautiful, they tasted like all the things right in life, and were gone far too soon._

 _We didn't talk much after that. I finished my meal, and she took to looking out the windows, constantly on guard. I picked up my bag, as I was about to leave she turned to look at me. One smile, one small peak at the beauty within, and then it was gone, and I was out the door._

 _I miss conversation. I wish I'd said something, anything. Why was she alone like me? And why after craving people so much, could I not deal with them anymore? Maybe loneliness is just what I am now. And maybe she's that too._

 _Two bits of lonely just meeting and falling away._

 _I went back to the house the next day. She'd gone. Moved on as if she'd never been there. But there were two cans of peaches sitting on the table. They tasted like words, like conversation. I spoke as I ate, asking her questions I knew she wouldn't answer. But I asked them anyway._

 _The note was tucked underneath the second tin. I held it like the Holy Grail._

 _YOU NEED TO BE A THREAT. YOU OR THEM?_

 _I repeat it now at night, over and over. I live it, breathe it._

 _I don't even know her name._

Someone was following him, of that he was certain. He could feel the familiar creep of it on the back of his neck, it set his hair on end. He'd doubled back, he'd run, he'd hid, but he moved and the sense of dread followed.

It lingered in the air around him.

When he'd left the store he'd deliberately gone in the opposite direction to the horde, wherever they were headed, he wanted nothing to do with it. Somewhere along the way he'd picked up the feeling and now he couldn't shake it. He was panicked. He wanted it to go, wanted the security of loneliness, needed it. He began to run, dodging through the trees, his heart in his throat, his breath barely filling his lungs.

The walker grabbed at him, it came from nowhere. Its skin had decayed grotesquely, its fingers slipping over his skin, bone pressing against his neck. Carl pulled away, and the walker followed. It had long hair, was wearing one of those floral dresses that stopped at its shins.

They were falling, falling. The ground jolting him, knocking the breath out of his lungs and straight into the walkers face. It gnashed its teeth, tasting life and wanting more. He tried to push it away, but his arms were weak. And he was so tired, so tired of running, so tired of fighting. Before he had time to change his mind, the walkers head exploded. The body fell limp on top of him, black rotten blood dripping onto his neck.

Carl pushed the walker off him, and looked up into the barrel of a gun.

'You should be more careful.' The man was huge, the way his clothes hung off him hinted at him being bigger, once upon a time. Black ink patterned the skin of his neck and disappeared into a mess of hair that looked like it didn't belong on his head.

'Now how about you show me what's in that bag?' Carl stared for a while, before he started to move. He tried to formulate some sort of plan, but his brain wouldn't work, and his dad's voice was back. _You'd be dead if it wasn't for him. What was that? You can't just give up. What about Judith, what about me?_

Carl swallowed the guilt and made his way over to his bag. He unpacked it slowly, like his daily ritual. First, the stuffed toy for Judith, he placed it on the ground gently, careful not to get in dirty. He looked up at the man, there wasn't a flicker, the man didn't move, just watched his actions carefully. Then the two cans of beans they went down beside the cuddly teddy. Then the peaches. When he reached in for the book he saw it, the flicker, and the ever so slight falter in concentration. Carl pushed his body weight forward, heaving himself into the man's torso, sending him off balance. They were falling, the bang shattered the silence, and Carl's ears rang as he reached for his knife. The man punched him once, sending him flailing back, book still in hand.

The gun was back in his face. This was it, this was the end. He'd never see Judith, never see Michonne, never see his dad again. He gripped the book to his chest. He'd never finish reading. He closed his eye, thinking of them all, maybe they were dead already. Maybe they'd be together finally, no walkers, no more surviving, just peace and all of them together.

'Where did you get that?' Carl opened his eye. The man was looking at the book clutched to his chest. The gun came closer to his face.

Carl opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, raising his hands over his head slowly. 'I found it, I found it,' the words left his mouth in short gasps, like he'd just resurfaced, like he'd been tugged back from the brink of death, and wasn't sure whether he was okay with it or not.

The gun pressed into his forehead painfully. 'You better not be fucking lying.' Carl recognised the worry reflected in the man's green eyes. He'd seen it so many times. Everyone had a little bit of worry. For friends, for family, for themselves. But it was there.

'You know who wrote this? You've seen her?' The man paused, then with a sigh pulled the gun away, standing some distance from Carl, looking down at the ground, as if ashamed at his own weakness. Carl waited, hands still in the air, a whole number of things he wanted to say, but he stayed silent. He was good at silent, and he'd changed his mind, he wanted to live. He needed to live.

Finally the man spoke, 'I don't know her name, she never told me. I took to calling her Nine, as in nine lives.' He seemed saddened by this, guilt hung on his shoulders. 'Is she dead?' He looked up, his eyes pleading.

Carl almost wished he could give him some closure, but he had none. So he shook his head, 'I don't know. I just found this.' He held the book in both his hands. He'd seen lots of Christians carrying their bibles like it; holding the holy words respectfully in their mortal hands. This was his bible. These words were godly, they were holy and they made him feel less like a monster.

The man nodded, 'I'm Jonah.'

Carl thought over the name for a moment, thought about lying about his own, but they shared Nine. In some weird disjointed, disconnected way. They were her ships in the night, and so before he knew it, he'd answered with his name.

The book had saved his life for a second time. And for the first time in a very long time, Carl Grimes was not alone.


	5. A Little Bit of Hope

A Little Bit of Hope

Carl fiddled with the frayed edges of his black out curtains, twisting a dried glob of paint between his fingers. There had been another horde, another stumbling mess of decay, headed somewhere. It had forced them into the first available space, which happened to be someone's house. One of the mansion types. Carl didn't like it, it was too big, too many rooms, too many chances to make mistakes. He saw things moving out the corner of his eye, even though he had personally gone through every room, he was certain they weren't alone. He was certain there was something waiting.

He was finding it hard dealing with the new norm, the no longer being alone. They shuffled around each other, silent and suspicious. Doors were checked, re-checked, then checked and re-checked again. Knots were tied, untied and re-tied. Re-tied differently. Carl didn't like it, he had his order, had his way. It worked.

Jonah showed compromise, doubling up on the knots, and letting them be. Carl eventually conceded, but it rattled him. His routine was consistent, unfaltering, and it worked. After all the trips, all the falls, it had been perfected. It kept him alive. Now there was Jonah. In his space, invading his routine. Carl gazed at his knives and contemplated bringing back the loneliness. He was comfortable in that, he knew that. But Jonah was bigger than him and Jonah had a loaded gun, and more than one bullet. Carl sighed returning his knife to the line-up, feeling the fabric of the handle beneath his fingertip. He'd probably have to wait till he was asleep. Then he could slip out into the night.

Risky. Stupid, what with the horde still moving about outside. But the air in the room was suffocating, Carl was certain there wasn't enough oxygen for the both of them.

 _Just kill him. Us or them Carl, Us or them._ Carl squeezed his eye shut, his dad made a good point, a valid point. Jonah was probably going to kill him, probably waiting for the opportune moment. Carl took his knife in hand again, and placed it back in his pocket. Just in case.

 _Just in case._

'Just in case.' He affirmed. He got up to go check the doors.

They sat at the table, it was large, oak and dusty. Someone's old dining room table. Two cans of beans now sat in the centre and Jonah opened each of them with a can opener he'd found in one of the draws. Carl tried to make them last, but he ended up gulping them down, inhaling the food, barely stopping to take a breath. Jonah showed restraint, eating each bean one by one, relishing the taste.

'Where are you headed?' Carl's head snapped up at the question. The silence had been shattered and it made him jolt.

'What?' Going? Who was going anywhere? Was there anywhere to go anymore?

'Where are you headed? You can't just be walking.' Carl stopped eating and looked up at him, his expression guarded. The silence stretched into an eternity before Carl looked down at his beans and mumbled, 'I'm looking for someone.'

'Who?' Carl gripped his spoon hard at the question, he could hear the screams, could see Judith looking up at him, the hat falling down over her eyes. _I'll be back I promise, I promise._ Carl's hand started to shake, and tears pricked at his eye. He stopped the shaking with his other hand, holding it hard against the wood of the table. 'Just someone.'

A neatly folded piece of paper landed in front of him, just out of reach. He stared at it for some time as if Jonah had thrown a grenade. He touched the paper, drawing it to the edge of the table and picking it up. He opened it out.

It was a map.

Charleston was circled in red. Underneath were words written in thick black ink. It took Carl a while to process them

HOPE – COME AND BE ALIVE

BECAUSE OF 9

'A man gave that to me, said he was headed that way, I've met others on their way there too. If you're looking for someone you got a good chance of finding them there.' Carl shook his head. There had been others, so many others. Terminus, Alexandria, the prison. All of them were gone, no matter how high they built the walls death still got in, it still won.

His hand started to shake again.

He didn't know how it had happened, he'd gone to look for dad. So many screams. People were falling, walkers on them tearing off bits of flesh, and he hadn't found it in him to care. They had been weak, they had hid behind their delusions and reality had caught up with them. But he couldn't find his dad, he couldn't find michonne. He couldn't find Carol. He went back, and she wasn't there, no hint, no trace. Just gone.

'It might be a long shot, but maybe she's still using her nickname.' Jonah's voice broke through the screams, and Carl's hand stopped shaking. He looked down at the paper again. It was a small link, fragile and pointless. But then again he could attest to fragile, he could attest to pointless. He carried round a book written by a stranger who was his only friend, a book that had saved his life twice.

'That's where I'm going, you…you should come.' Jonah seemed uncertain with his words, but he didn't take them back, just let them hang in the air.

'Those places, they don't exist. Not the way you think. They're just lies.' Carl said stabbing his finger at the O in hope, heaving himself out of his chair to check the doors. Jonah didn't stop him.

He paused at the door, and after a moments deliberation asked, 'What is she like?' Red crept onto his cheeks, he cleared his throat and stared at the floor poking the carpet sheepishly with his toes.

'A bit like us,' Jonah turned to him, a sad smile tugging at his lips. 'She didn't trust me either.' He pointed to a faint white line running along his jaw. 'I didn't get this shaving.'

It was a joke, Carl knew he should laugh, but he couldn't remember how to do it. Jonah didn't laugh either, just sighed and turned back to his beans. Maybe a lifetime ago a family had sat and laughed together, the room filling up with the sound, but now it was like dust covered furniture and they were sitting amongst it choking.

'Do you think you'll find her?'

'I hope so.' Carl nodded once, then went to check the doors.

 _I miss not being afraid._

 _I miss the feeling of safety. Sometimes I think that the security of life was just a dream, a delusion we'd all fooled ourselves into. To sleep in a bed, to dream, to breathe, speak, live, dance. Did I do all those things without being afraid? Was I really that safe? One locked door kept out the darkness, one locked door kept in the light._

 _There were no strangers in the night. Not for me. There was no clammy hand over my mouth as they dragged me out of bed, no heavy putrid breath in my ear. There was light, there was hope, and I was not afraid._

 _Everything scares me now._

 _I'm scared of being alone, the dark whispers to me, locked door now longer able to keep it at bay. I'm scared to touch, scared of life, Scared of death. I'm scared that one day ill reach a point where the light can't find me. How far is too far? When have I crossed the line?_

 _It feels like it's a great distance away. Over some distant horizon._

 _Touch scares me the most. I shy away from it like a frightened deer._

 _Jonah doesn't attempt to touch me. His gazes don't even linger that long. Green eyes stare at dirt. I wonder if he's afraid too._

 _Afraid that in the night I'll kill him too. I know he won't kill me though, he saved my life, heaved that man off me, shooting him as he lay on the ground. Maybe one day I'll thank him, when the words are right, and the darkness is locked away again. Maybe I'll hug him._

 _I miss hugs._

 _I miss being held, something so simple. The touch of skin, the warmth. All the troubles, all the love, wrapped up in someone's arms._

 _So simple, so easy._

 _I miss them with all of me. But I won't let anyone touch me again._

 _The knife slid into his throat so easily, he might have survived the wound in his side, but I just kept stabbing. Watching his life seep from his eyes and stain the carpet._

 _I enjoyed it, the fear within me stilled._

 _The pain he'd caused me, the way he'd touched me. I'd let him._

 _I needed to scream._

 _Needed to cry._

 _But I didn't, I just kept stabbing him. And Jonah just watched me._

 _I didn't trust Jonah at first, pinned my back against the wall and frowned at him._

 _We didn't speak. He waited and I watched. Then one day he just broke the silence._

' _I'm Jonah.' I stared at him. 'I'm not…I'm not going to hurt you.' He knew I didn't believe him. I don't believe anyone anymore._

' _Did that man….did he..?' He couldn't finish the sentence, and I was silently grateful for it. There's a shame now, a shame I can't get rid of. I thought that everything had been taken, everything had been stripped away. But the evil was still taking, still scraping at the last dregs of my soul._

 _I let out a forlorn sob, so quiet, so desperate. I sounded like a wounded animal. Jonah's hand was on my shoulder, and my knife was across his face._

 _The cut ran along his jaw, blood dripping between his fingers as he covered it, his other hand raised in surrender._

' _Don't you fucking touch me. Don't touch me.' My voice shook, it wobbled with the uncertainty of my existence. Jonah backed away and I folded in on myself, knife still gripped in my hand._

 _Jonah didn't speak for a while after that._

 _We're all the same. All just carbon copies. In different places, in different times, but we're the same. Maybe that's why I don't trust anyone anymore, I know the darkness of my heart, know the way it felt killing that man, and who would trust anyone like me._

 _I miss hugs._

 _I miss being able to trust someone enough to breathe in their space, to let them hold me. Let myself hold them. Who would want to touch though?_

 _I hate my skin, hate the darkness. Sometimes I feel like clawing it off._

 _Are we worth it? Are we worth this skin, this life?_

 _I told him he didn't deserve this life, didn't deserve the breath his lungs had stolen. Didn't deserve the soul he'd ripped from me. I spat it on his face, a manic smile on my face. I can still feel it in my cheeks._

 _I kept the blood on my hands for days after, I wanted it there. I'd taken something back, stole something of his._

 _Stolen everything._

 _After a while Jonah cleared up his things, heaving the bag on his back. He turned to me cowering in the corner, knife in both hands, tears streaked down my blood stained cheeks._

' _I'm going to Terminus. It's safe there. You should come with me.' I laughed bitterly at his words, why would I want to go anywhere with him._

' _Why?' my voice croaked more than I'd wanted it to._

' _Because everyone needs hope.' And then he left, door closing softly behind him. I could hear his footsteps falling away._

 _I don't know why I followed. But I did. I just got up, gathering my stuff. I stepped over the stain in the hall, and looked into it. I was certain there was no hope, but if anyone needed it, I did._

 _We talk now. In stuttered syllables and broken vowels, but we talk. And with every day I think that maybe, maybe there is something out there, maybe we are making our way towards a new life._

 _I have a little bit of hope, so I guess that's something._

Carl heaved a sigh and closed the book, his heart hammering in his chest. He knew it was insane, but he felt the anger none the less. With a huff he got up, pacing up and down the room, nowhere to vent the frustration, nowhere to vent the anger. Just him and his dad's voice.

 _Hope doesn't exist. It's just survival._ He shook his head, Carl knew his dad was right, but maybe. What if there was hope? What if there was a chance to live, to live without the fear.

When morning came Carl was waiting at the door with his things. Jonah looked at him, raising an eyebrow.

'You saved her.' Jonah's eyes widened.

'How did you….ah the book.' He mumbled, rubbing his beard thoughtfully. 'Yes, yes I did.'

Carl nodded once and put his bag on his back, untied the knots on the door, and cautiously made his way out into the sun. Jonah followed silently. The horde had moved on. And they began walking towards hope.


	6. Pointless Things

Pointless Things.

 _I miss dancing._

 _Miss the freedom of it. It wasn't something I thought about before I saw Jonah dancing with the air, arms held out as if holding a woman._

 _Jonah._

 _I know that there must have been people like him before everything went to shit. I know there must have been those men with hard exteriors and soft centres. But now they are a rarity, I feel incredibly lucky that he found me._

 _He told me he was a wrestler before, and a postman; and that he and his wife went dancing on the weekends, because it made her happy, and he loved her smile._

 _He really can dance. He's light on his feet, like he's tiptoeing on a cloud._

 _He's showing me how to fight, how to fight and how to dance. I still can't get over how strangely beautiful it is. We begin the night with him showing me how to throw a punch. Then we stand side by side, and he hums a tune. I watch his feet and copy. I like the waltz, the only dance I can really do with any sort of grace. One, Two, Three. One, Two, Three. I like its simplicity._

 _Mom used to dance, she'd put on music and sway side to side while she cooked. The sun would paint her face, and dad would step in behind her, hands on her waist and a smile in her hair. I told Jonah about it, without really thinking. I stuttered into silence mid – sentence, tripping over my feet as I did the wrong steps. What is the use in talking about the past? There's nothing there but sadness and death._

 _Jonah says it keeps them alive. If only they were. I wish they were, but he's wrong. They are gone and no amount of dreaming, of talking, is going to bring them back._

 _Terminus isn't far. I've imagine all sorts of things. In my head it's paradise, I'm going to start over, a brand new start._

 _Jonah said he lost his wife at the beginning. She was one of the first to go. A Saturday. He came back with flowers, they smelt like the perfume she always wore, he says he can still smell it, but it's fading, every day the scent goes just a little bit._

 _Ive seen a picture of her. Jonah doesn't know, I went through his coat and found it. She's small, tiny next to Jonah, as I imagine most people are. She's small and beautiful._

 _He said when he dances he feels like she's still there. Still in his arms. He doesn't talk about her all at once like people I have known, he doesn't rush her. It's little bits, here and there, small words and quiet moments._

 _I can see the sadness, can feel it. It sits in between us as we talk. Jonah understands, he know's the hurt._

 _I often wonder how long he was alone for._

 _I hope that when we get to Terminus there will be music. Then Jonah can dance. Then I can dance._

 _We aren't that far, maybe a day if that._

 _Then we'll start over._

It took two long and painful weeks for Carl to get used to the huge presence of Jonah, and two long painful weeks for Jonah to get used to the lean and suspicious presence of Carl. It was agreed that Carl would knot the doors and check them. An agreement arrived at because Carl got fed up of Jonah tying the wrong knots and cut his rope.

 _It was old rope, on its way out._ Carl nodded at Michonnes words. She was right.

Now they had reached a stale mate, a stale mate which consisted of Carl throwing about his small amount of weight, and Jonah pinning him in a painful hold against one wall or another.

'You know how to fight.' Carl said, wringing his hands in front of him. Jonah looked at him through the reflection in the mirror he was holding. Carl watched mesmerized as he went back to shaving his head, messy clumps of hair falling down his bare back and onto the floor. His body was a mess of silvery scars, they covered every inch of his skin, glinting in the light of the small lantern they'd come across.

'Yes.' He eventually said. Carl nodded, tapping out a beat on his jeans.

'I figure there's something you want to ask?' Jonah turned fully. Carl could see the full tattoo, his shoulder black with tribal patterns. Carl nodded again, uncomfortable with asking, and he could tell Jonah knew it. He could see the amusement in the man's green eyes.

'Could you….' Carl couldn't get the rest of the sentence out, it got stuck in his throat; whether out of pride or embarrassment he didn't know, but he couldn't. He refused to give Jonah the satisfaction, so he turned stiff shouldered and went to leave.

'Alright, alright. I'll teach you. But first sit your ass down.' Carl turned slightly, confused.

'What.'

Jonah stood, motioning to the stool he'd been sitting on. They had taken refuge in an old bar, dust had settled on the bottles, the duke box no longer worked, and Jonah sat at the counter doing his hair.

'Sit down.' He nodded at the stool.

'Why?'

'So I can sort out the mess on your head, and this.' Carl jumped back as Jonah strode forward and grabbed a handful of the soft hair growing out his chin. Carl shook his head, leaning the top half of his body away.

'If you don't trust me enough to cut your hair, then how the hell am I going to teach you to fight?' Jonah crossed his arms.

'You taught, Nine.' Carl countered, shoving his hands in his pockets.

'That was…different.' Jonah sighed pointing the razor at Carl. 'Look, either you let me short this out,' he moved the razor in circles gesturing to Carl's face, Carl was not impressed. 'Or you get eaten cause some dead fucker got hold of the shit growing out your chin.'

Carl deliberated for a while, dragging it out just to annoy. He was being petulant, it was a new feeling. He hadn't thrown a paddy quite like it in a while. Strangely he enjoyed how normal it felt.

 _Just a few years too late, son._ His dad's words had him moving to the stool and sitting down awkwardly. The first few attempts to cut his air, ended in Carl shaking and dodging away. Jonah's large hand fell on his shoulder making him jump.

'There ain't no sense in killing you. If I'd wanted to do that, I'd have let that…what you call em.'

'Walker.' Carl mumbled sheepishly.

'Ah yes, I'd have let that walker do it.'

He was right, so Carl clenched his fists by his side and let him shave off his hair. It fell it clumps that felt heavy on his shoulders, bits of filth and congealed blood falling with it. Jonah showed him how to shave, how to hold the razor, and for the first time in a while Carl felt the tangible feeling of loss. It was like a gap that opened up and everything fell into it, leaving him empty. His dad should have told him this, should have shown him a long time ago. But he'd been alone by then. He looked down at his hands, caked in blood and dirt. The hands that knew how to take a life, and had done so with ease, but didn't know how to shave off a beard.

When he looked in the bathroom mirror away from Jonah, he cried. Cried like he hadn't in a while, not since his mom died, not since he thought his dad had turned. He held onto the sink and sobbed, great streams of grief left him, fell onto the floor and crashed around him. Then he just stopped. Sniffing, as he wiped his arm across his nose, his eye was red, he was still caked in walker blood, and he was still in the world, still living, breathing. And grief got him nowhere.

He headed out the room, Jonah could see he'd been crying, Carl caught the flash of worry in his eyes. But the big man said nothing. Just threw a punch in Carl's general direction which clipped him on the cheek, and it hurt. Carl growled and lunged at him, the emptiness turning to anger, the anger boiling and bubbling and hurting him so much. He punched, kicked and hurled it all in Jonah's direction; and Jonah blocked, parried and lashed back.

'Never be angry, or you'll die.' The fight had ended with Carl pinned on the floor, a piece of fluff stuck to his lip.

'Now try again.' Carl got up and tried again.

He learnt fast, he found that being numb helped, and he was good at being numb.

* * *

There was something incredible mesmerizing about a man mountain dancing, his soft hum filling the room, his large bulk moving with all the grace and ease of a feather catching the breeze. Carl watched open mouthed.

'You look like you've never seen dancing before.' Jonah laughed as he twirled around, his arms held out as if dancing with someone. As if he was dancing with his wife. Carl didn't bring it up though, it wasn't something he was supposed to know.

'Do you dance?' He stopped and looked at Carl. Carl shook his head.

'Dancing's for girls.' Jonah laughed as soon as the words left Carl's mouth.

'It's not, and I'll show you. Come on.' He gestured for Carl to come into the room. Carl shook his head again.

'Humour and old man.'

Carl didn't know why he agreed, but they stood side by side, and Carl followed the movements. He learnt fast. Faster than he liked to admit. But he enjoyed it. It was pointless, it wouldn't help him survive, but when he got it right, Jonah clapped in on the back, a grin on his face, and a touch of pride in his eyes. And Carl found himself smiling. Found himself laughing. It was pointless but it mattered to Jonah. And slowly it mattered to Carl.

It mattered more and more, as Carl saved Jonah's life, and as Jonah saved his life.

'You're not too bad are you, mate.' Jonah said one night, and Carl felt a swell of pride in his chest. He wasn't a boy, he wasn't a kid, he was a man, and he had a friend.

He found that he wasn't numb anymore. He felt, he talked. He found enjoyment in being alive. He found enjoyment in things. Even the pointless things.


	7. Being A Monster

Chasing Wolves

Nothing could have stopped the infection, it was inevitable. Cut a man open and the filth will get in. Everyone knew. Carl had watched as the cut changed colour, as it began to smell and fill with puss. He'd noticed how Jonah slowed; limping and wincing, sweat beading his brow, face growing paler and paler. Eventually there was just a ghost hobbling alongside him and he could do nothing about it.

It was deep, its edges jagged and mean looking. Carl had wrapped strips of his chequered shirt round it to stop the blood. The blood soaked through and Carl ripped off more and more strips, panic building inside of him with each soaked piece of cloth. Eventually though it stopped, and Carl tucked himself in the corner, blood in the cracks in his skin, his hands shaking. He'd done what he could, he was no doctor, no surgeon; but he didn't want Jonah to die, so he'd tried his best.

When Jonah eventually woke Carl soaked the wound in water, trying to wash away the dirt and the grime, and then wrapped some more of his grimy chequered shirt around it. They'd both stared, both knowing. But Jonah had shrugged, his face set in the kind of determination that Carl only every remembered ever seeing in his dad. And they'd just kept going. Progress was slow.

Then Carl found a pharmacy. A small one tucked away in a tiny derelict town. Relatively untouched and Carl almost fell to his knees in relief. Instead though he ran round to Jonah who had propped himself against a picket fence, the white paint all but stripped off by the rain.

'You won't believe this.'

Now there they were; Carl sat against the wall, watching his friend take in shallow breath after shallow breath, hoping that each one wasn't his last. Jonah lay along the counter, bag under his head. Carl had given him tablets, had given him water, and had cleaned and dressed the wound, and Jonah had slept. And slept.

He clenched and unclenched his hands in front of him, mesmerised by the blood, sunk into the crevices of his skin, like little tributaries of red.

It had been his fault.

 _Caught red handed._ It was his mom's voice, and it made him flinch. He found it strange that he could remember her voice, he could barely remember her face; but her voice, it echoed through him, as strong and real as the day she died.

 _I'm sorry mom, I had to._

 _He was a boy, a little boy._ Carl became angry, gritting his teeth.

 _I had to._ His mom shut up, and he sighed.

He couldn't deny it though, everything had been all his fault. Caught red handed being careless.

They'd all just come out of nowhere, covered in grime, scarred w's on their heads. They growled and circled like a pack of rabid dogs, frothing at the mouth and bearing their teeth.

The first one had gone down easy enough, knife gliding into the iris, mouth opening and closing as he sank to the floor. The hammer he'd been holding landing with a clunk. The woman was next, her hair curled and wild around her face, a desperate kind of insanity in her wide brown eyes. Carl picked up the man's hammer and brought it to her face. The insanity bled onto the ground, her wild hair blew faintly in the breeze.

One of them jumped on his back as three shots rang out. Three shots. All the bullets that Jonah had left. Carl had known, had counted them out every night. One finger space apart. The broken edge of a bottle cutting into his cheek had brought him back to reality. Carl had let himself fall, a crunch filling the air as ribs broke, and his attacker gasped for air.

He was young, as young as Carl had been when he'd shot his mom. When Judith had been born. Carl had paused mesmerized. Faltering with his knife. He looked familiar, like the phantom that looked out from the mirror, that did what he did, that said what he said, but wasn't him. Someone had grabbed him, an arm closing up his windpipe making him choke. He'd fought with everything he had, and finally when his knife sank into the man's brain, he fell back onto the floor exhausted.

He'd been so stupid, so naïve. Had he learnt nothing? Everyone was a threat. Everyone wanted to kill because everyone wanted to survive and if they didn't they were dead already. He should have known that. But he'd stopped, he'd paused. He heard Jonah cry out, turned as he was falling to the floor, his heart in his throat.

He'd run, faster than he'd ever thought possible, with more anger in him than he ever thought human. Anger at himself, anger at the boy, anger at the crazy fucked up world. The boy's hair had been thin in his hands as he'd yanked it, pulling him away, and throwing him onto his back. He'd hit him, all the anger, all the hatred flying at the kids face, dislodging teeth, blood bubbling out his mouth and down his chin. He'd felt so powerful, so real and powerful that he did it again, and again.

 _That's it son. They should fear you._

There had been a point when the boy had stopped struggling, stopped moving, stopped breathing. But it hadn't mattered. He couldn't remember why, but it hadn't mattered.

 _Destroy the brain_

So Carl had picked up the boys head, and smashed it against the ground. Over and over, till red painted the road around him.

He hadn't heard anything over the rush of blood to his ears, couldn't feel anything but the overwhelming need to kill, to keep killing, until every last bit of life was painted on his hands, splattered across the floor.

Jonah had tried to pull him back gently, and Carl had turned and hit him, his fist leaving a smear of blood across Jonah's cheek. Jonah had looked at him, looked into him, straight into the darkness and Carl had stilled.

'He's dead, been dead a while.' And with that Carl had nodded, shame rushing through him.

 _You're a monster._ Carl gritted his teeth.

Jonah hadn't shouted at him, hadn't blamed him, just wiped the blood off his cheek, and hobbled to the safety of a small derelict garage.

'Lucy and I couldn't have children, you know.' Carl looked up at Jonah. His voice quiet, he was gazing up at the ceiling, a small smile on his lips. 'The adoption had gone through. We were gonna be parents…. I got flowers. I can't remember what they were, but I smell them.' His voice wobbled and he sniffed, his head lolled to the side, his eyes meeting Carl's.

'Where's your family?'

Carl stared down at his hands. Jonah had never asked, never pried into it. Now he was, Carl didn't know how he felt about it. He supposed he owed it to him.

'I don't know.' Carl shrugged, 'I lost them. My sisters probably dead because of me.'

'You'll find her.' Carl shook his head in disbelief, leaning his head against the wall.

'I hated my dad. I thought he was weak. He wanted us to be farmers.'

'Farming ain't that bad. It's manlier than dancing.' Carl chuckled, tears pricking at his eye despite the laughter.

He wanted to say that he wished he'd told his dad he didn't hate him. That he trusted him. But he didn't, because Jonah was asleep and because he knew it wouldn't make a difference.

In the days that followed Carl stumbled round him, Jonah becoming a part of his routine. Doors checked, handles tugged once, twice. Then he'd shuffle over to the counter, temperature checked with back of hand to head, then he'd shake him awake; water in one hand tablet in the other.

Carl would sit with him till he finished the water, then he'd stutter around him. Unsure and uncomfortable. He didn't like the uncertainty, and he missed Jonah's fighting, missed his dancing, missed his hope.

He dreamed at night, nightmares that shook him awake, cold sweat soaking his t-shirt the flickers of memory fading as he grew accustomed to the darkness. Checking the doors before trying to attempt sleep. His mom whispered to him as soon as he closed his eyes.

 _You're a monster._ He sobbed at the truth of it, at the unmissable red of it on his hands.

 _Caught red handed being a monster._ He scratched at his head, trying to claw the voices out. He wished he could stop them, wished he could tell them that a monster was all he knew how to be anymore. All he could be.

Carl shaved his beard and hair, and after some deliberation shaved Jonah's beard and hair. Soon after Jonah woke, grumbling about how he'd cut his leg, not lost his fucking arms. But he nodded at Carl. 'You're getting good at that.' And Carl tried not to smile with pride.

Then they were back on the road, Jonah still hobbling but alive. Carl made him some crutches out of fence panels, and Jonah complained about the splinters it gave him. But he used them. He told Carl about Lucy, little anecdotes here and there, little bits of sadness dropped into their extended silences. And Carl listened. He listened holding onto all the hope.

 _The water is luminous in the moonlight._

 _Like a lake of silver. It's so beautiful it takes my breath away. It's something I guess. Terminus was just a repeat of everywhere else. Walkers were stumbling into one another, and the paradise I'd imagined, the paradise that we'd been promised died in an instant._

 _A part of my heart expected it. Where is there on this earth not unspoiled? Where can I go now to escape all the shit? There were dead people everywhere._

 _Jonah hasn't lost hope though. He never does. Sometimes I want to scream at him, and sometimes I do. He just shrugs, his huge shoulders heaving up, then dropping down, as if shaking off my words. He never says anything in answer, just carries on walking._

 _We were in the wood when we stumbled across the stream, just a small trickle, so tiny I might have missed it. We followed it, and it grew and grew. Till it opened out into a small pool. The water was clear and the sun glimmered within it. Like lots of tiny jewels, like I could reach out and touch them._

 _We jumped in, droplets of water sparkling around us. My clothes ballooned around me, and a line of dirt floated behind me on the surface of the water, but it was beautiful. And when the sun set and the moon came out it was even more breath-taking._

' _Lucy would have loved this.' Jonah was looking up at the stars. There are so many. Tiny dots of light flickering in the sky._

' _There will be somewhere else, trust me.'_

 _I wish I could say that I don't believe him, but I do. He speaks with such certainty. And I'm basking in the iridescent night, filled with so many colours. The stars are as close and clear as they dare to be, and there's a whole world unexplored, unsurvived._

 _So maybe._

 _Maybe I shouldn't give up._

 _I wish dad could see this. Mom Jenna and Jimmy too. When I close my eyes I pretend they're sat with me. I think of grey haired lady with her strong words and soft voice, of limping bandit and his one shoe. We're all sat together, gathered round the water, staring at the stars. Enough hope between us for me to keep breathing, to keep dreaming, to keep hoping._


	8. A Lesson In Mercy

A lesson in Mercy

Disgust. It had become a regular emotion. As regular as happiness had once been. Disgust at the world, disgust at the day to day occurrence of rotting corpses wandering around. And disgust at men. Men and their lies, men and their hate. Men and their desperation to do anything to survive.

It set Carl's teeth against one another, his eye narrowing as the man with red hair begged and pleaded, grubby fingers clawing at the muddy earth beneath him, his forehead pressed against the floor, great heavy sobs heaving his shoulders.

'Please, please don't…I just…I just need food.' He lifted his head shakily, green eyes meeting the cold blue of Carls. He looked away immediately, back to the earth, back to his sobbing.

They'd found a small hut, barely anything to shout about, but it had a fireplace and Jonah was tired. The fever was creeping back, the infection still pumping through his veins, still poisoning his every step. So they'd stopped. And Carl had gone hunting.

He'd wandered the woods, silent and unseen. Walker blood painting his skin and the thrill of being alone already creeping back into his blood. The certainty that every step was his own. He was completely in control again. Sometimes he missed being invisible, missed falling in and out of the darkness without so much as a thought.

 _Always be strong. Never be weak._

When he'd caught the rabbit he'd felt a small sense of pride, felt his strength return. It wasn't that Jonah made him weak, but he'd noticed the small things. The panic, the stumbles and slip ups that he made simply because he cared, simply because he now thought about them. He knew though that to be alone again, completely alone would be his death. And that scared him.

The thought of pressing the gun to his temple and tugging at the trigger set his hands shaking. They moved of their own accord, he had to set them on his knees to have any hope of them stopping. He thought about running away. Running away into the trees, into the silence. It wouldn't take long for the darkness to take over again, wouldn't take long to get into his routine. But he didn't. The sun painted his face in tiny rays poking through the trees, he sighed and took the rabbit back.

He skinned and gutted it, then cooked it on the fire. He and Jonah had watched the fat dripping into the embers, their mouths watering. Then something had tripped the wires outside, the faint knock of cans cutting through the silence.

The red haired man hadn't fought, just raised his hands and squinted at the light of the lamp. His cheeks were drawn in and filthy. Carl remembered vaguely that addicts used to look like it, hiding out in abandoned flats, as Shane had put it

 _Shooting all sorts of shit into their arms._

Now everyone looked like an addict, addicted to life, addicted to death, addicted to the heady rush of survival. It left them weak and drawn, skin over bones, fear the glue holding it all together. His hair was scraped back off his face, tied behind his head with frayed rope. One look at them; Carl knife in hand, hate on his face and Jonah limping behind him, breath punching the air, and the man had crumbled. Fallen onto the floor in a mess of fleshy rubble.

'So hungry. Please.'

 _Better to put him out his misery. End it for him._

Carl nodded, stepping forward and raising his knife. But Jonah grabbed his arm, shaking his head and hobbling in front of him. With a great heave he had the man on his feet.

'Come on, we have rabbit.'

 _Kill him. Kill him. Kill him or he'll kill you._ He was gripping his knife so hard it felt a part of his arm. Like there was cold metal growing out his wrist, ready to kill, ready to end anyone's life.

 _What are you waiting for?_

 _Jonah said no. Jonah know's what he's doing._

 _Does he? Maybe he wants to kill you too._ Carl shook his head, hands clasping at his skull, he wanted them gone, he wanted all the voices to leave. But they were right. No one could be trusted. Everyone wanted him dead, everyone except Jonah.

 _What are you doing?_ He had no idea. Unless he was sinking his blade into the brain of a walker, or fighting everything and everyone for his next breath, he had no idea what he was doing. That's why he needed order, that's why he had to check the handles twice, that's why he had to line everything up, to count and then read. One section per day. No more, no less. Every day she survived so did he. It gave him reason, gave him a purpose in a world where there was none.

Jonah was shaking up his order, like he'd done so many times. Like he'd done with the knots, like he'd done with the illness, the fighting and the dancing. Like he'd done trying to read the end of Nine's book. He'd wanted to find out where she was, if there were any clues. But Carl had grabbed it in a panic, holding it close to his chest.

'It's mine…I…I need it.' He'd sounded so weak, so pathetic. And Jonah had nodded like he always did, sympathy scrawled across his face like a stain. Carl saw it there from time to time.

Now, now there was this. After being attacked and wounded he was just letting anyone in. inviting them for food, letting them eat what Carl had hunted and killed.

Carl sat, his back to the fire, watching the man cautiously as he sat cross legged. There was a hole in his trousers, Carl said nothing.

'What brings you this way?' Jonah was handing out bits of rabbit, the man took them gratefully but glanced around nervously. Every time the man flinched, Carl gripped his knife harder, holding it by his side. Ready to strike. The man noticed, and instantly looked away.

'We….we were heading to hope…but a horde.' The man was crying, Carl could see the heavy drops glowing orange on his cheeks, flames dancing within them. The red haired man didn't acknowledge them though, just stared into the wood of the floor.

'Yes we've noticed a few this way.' Carl shot Jonah an angry look. He hated this, hated Jonah for making him do it. They couldn't pretend this was okay, they couldn't pretend that given the chance the man wouldn't kill them, couldn't pretend that he was a friend.

He couldn't have been much older than 25, Carl knew that meant nothing though. People aged differently in this world, he could already see streaks of grey in his own hair when he shaved. He was an old man before his time.

'What's your name?'

'Jimmy.'

They all sat in silence, eating their food as quietly as possible. Carl didn't settle, he couldn't. But when Jimmy had finished, he simply got up and left, a mumbled word of thanks falling on to the floor as his replacement.

Carl waited till he heard the cans knocking against one another again. 'What the fuck was that?' Carl spat. Jonah turned slowly, despite the force of the words.

'I'm not sure what you mean.' Carl gritted his teeth at the shrug, punching his knife into the wood flooring.

'You know exactly what I mean…Fuck…We should have killed him.' Carl was up and pacing, shaking his head. Jonah watched him slightly bemused.

'What threat was he? He was pretty much dead already.'

'You don't fucking know that,'

'The man that gave me this.' He held up the map, hope scrawled across it.

'He could have killed me. I wanted him to. Begged him in fact. But he just wouldn't.' Jonah sighed. 'Without him, without his mercy, I wouldn't be here and neither would you.'

'What about those fuckers back there? You had no trouble killing them. Wasted three fucking bullets on them. They were pretty much dead too.'

'They were different.' Jonah mumbled and Carl laughed bitterly.

'How the fuck are they different.' Jonah looked up at him, anger flickering like flames in his eyes. Carl stilled. He was angry, but he knew when to stop with Jonah, knew when enough was enough. Jonah was silent for some time, still in his memories, and Carl just waiting, settling back onto the floor, flicking splinters up with his knife.

'They took us. Me and Nine. Not long after we found that Terminus was a no go. They did some pretty shitty things to both of us…but…but the worst was Nine. They chained her up, then carved nine lives into her back. They liked it, enjoyed that shit. And I couldn't do fuck all. Just had to watch them.'

Carl gulped, chancing a look at Jonah. He looked haunted, like he was back there with them, no longer sat in the room. Carl wanted to pull him back but he knew he couldn't. He was often somewhere else too. More often than not, back with Judith. Her small hands holding his, her eyes gazing up into his, his hat on her head.

 _I'll be back I promise. I promise._

Carl went and checked the door, pulling the handle twice, he unpacked his things, then placed them back in his bag. Then he did the same to Jonah's bag. Before he settled down he practiced fighting, then with some small deliberation, practiced his dancing. Jonah began humming softly, then told Carl to straighten his back, and Carl smiled slightly.

Carl then picked up the book. Opening it carefully at the last entry he'd read.

 _I miss holding hands. Miss the lace of fingers._

 _The perfect fit of them and me, just that tiny connection across a space so small and distant. Small enough for words to be heard, big enough for hearts to get lost._

 _Jimmy used to hold my hand, used to grab it and inspect my fingers. I can still feel his breath on my skin, like tiny whispers of wind. I often think of Jimmy. If the world hadn't ended, if he hadn't gone, I'd probably still be sitting with him in Adelaide. We'd probably be together. Probably be in love._

 _I guess I love him. I love him in a way that I'd never experienced before all this. It's not the love I have for Jenna, Mom and dad. Not the love that sets my heart hurting when I think of it. It's more like the love I have for grey haired lady, and limping bandit. Little glimmers of light that reach across the vast distances and chase away the shadows in my soul._

 _Sometimes I think they're all that keeps me human, if human is what I am now._

 _Love isn't the same._

 _So maybe being human isn't either._

 _Jimmy used to kiss me. Used to press his chapped lips against mine. They tasted like the sea. Like salt and free air. I'd always turn away, cheeks flushing. I often thought about kissing him back. Slanting my head in intrigue, tasting the sea, tasting the free air. Maybe I would have enjoyed it. I wanted to so badly._

 _I bet kissing the same isn't either, bet it tastes like death, fear and the uncertainty of tomorrow._

 _I held the girls hand. Held it as she died. Laced our fingers across the distance of the dying and the living, across victim and murderer. It was warm and slick with blood. Her eyes were frozen in a shocked stare, like death had a face and she was gazing into it._

 _Is this mercy? Is this all there is left of mercy anymore?_

 _Jonah says that mercy is weak, a weakness we can't afford. Not if we want to live._

 _Does that mean mercy will disappear? It took almost a week for things to fall apart. I guess I should be grateful that mercy managed to hold on as long as it did, grasping desperately at the gaps in life._

 _Mercy saved my life._

 _Mercy has me here._

 _Mercy made my hand move and lace with hers._

 _I told Jonah he was wrong, that mercy was a strength, a strength we'd all but forgotten. All but abandoned in our fear._

 _I held onto her hand for an age. Even after she'd died, even after I'd put my knife through her brain. I held her hand, inspecting her fingers, both red and dirty. They were both killers hands, both murderers of someone, somewhere._

 _She would have killed me._

 _I wonder if she would have held my hand._

 _I cried. She was just like me, this world that's mine was hers, and I took it from her._

 _Maybe we need this, maybe we need to reach across, extend our fingers and touch. To remember what it's like to feel. To learn._

 _Maybe we all need a lesson in mercy._

Carl heard him before he saw him. Coughing his life out, Carl watched it drip down his shirt. Jimmy. He hadn't made it far. His side was ripped out soaking into the earth, a walker dead at his feet. Carl knelt slowly, unsure of what to say.

'I was gonna go to the sea…tell her I'm sorry….I…I was scared.' Jimmy wasn't looking at him, he was looking into the distance, far away like Jonah had been the night before. Carl reached out slowly, knife in hand, and Jimmy turned to him finally acknowledging his presence. He seemed relieved, it could have been sadness, Carl couldn't tell, but the knife slid into his brain and then there was nothing there. Jimmy was gone.

Carl touched one finger to his hand leaving a smudge of blood. He could have been Nine's Jimmy. But he didn't want to know, didn't need to know.

Mercy. It wasn't saving. But it was something, something human he'd not yet lost. He turned to Jonah, he was hunched over his crutches a sad smile on his face. 'At least he got a good meal before the end, ay?' Carl nodded silently cleaning his knife on his jeans, and standing.

Carl looked at Jonah awkwardly for a bit before mumbling, 'I want to bury him.' Jonah seemed shocked, but didn't say anything, just nodded, and began to help Carl dig out the earth with his hands. It took them a while, Carl finishing most of it because Jonah was too tired to carry on. But they got Jimmy in the ground.

There was no words, no sentiment, just two men and a grave, mercy between them, like the presence of Nine in their lives.

Nine was what linked them all. She was their mercy. So Carl thought he'd give some of it back, even if it was as small as digging a grave.


	9. Missing Pieces

The gun was cold and dead against his skin, one bullet loaded. One bullet. He knew that once he fired it would come alive in his hands, the warm metal would mould with his skin, fitting nicely where once it had seemed so awkward.

'Just do it, Carl.' Carl shook. The target was easy, the target was still, unmoving. But still he shook.

 _Do it Carl. End it. End it._

It was a white farmhouse, white and surrounded by woodland, and acres of land overgrown with vegetation. Carl licked his lips; they'd been running low on food for a while and Jonah was sick again. Burying Jimmy had taken it out of Jonah, leaving him the weakest he'd ever been since the illness.

 _Shouldn't have done it, everyone dies, everyone rots. What difference does a bit of earth make?_ His dad's voice had gotten quieter, like a faint murmur in the back of his mind, but the quieter he got, the more he seemed to say and Carl strained to hear him.

'This'll do.' Jonah murmured, knocking the window three times and waiting. The walker pressed itself up against the glass; old and slow, more skeletal, its skin stretched over its bones, its eyes rotted away into black sockets.

Carl killed it, one quick stab to the head; his knife went in easy and kept going, its skull caving in and swallowing his hand. He pulled it back quickly wiping the gunk on his jeans.

'They're dying now. They'll be less of a threat.' Jonah sighed, sitting down on a floral patterned arm chair, his skin was ghostly pale. He looked small, small and insignificant in a big and harsh world, and that worried Carl.

'You think they can die?' Carl didn't sit, he needed to go through his routine, needed to secure the house. Jonah being ill had made him sloppy and that had a habit of killing people.

'Well destroy the brain, you stop the dead. Figures that if the brains gone, that'd have a sure chance of killing them. Right?'

'I guess you're right.' Jonah looked up at him, grinning from ear to ear.

'I am aren't I?' With a roll of his eye Carl began his usual rounds. Yosemite Bowline knots on all the doors, he didn't want anyone sneaking in while he was sweeping the rooms, especially with Jonah being the way he was. A full sweep told Carl what he'd already thought, there was nothing of interest; dusty frames, remnants of an old life long forgotten, left behind to rot like the old man on the porch.

He went outside, digging through the overgrown weeds, till he found food, carrots, lettuces, things that he knew he'd seen before but couldn't remember the name of. He could remember the feel, the taste of them on his tongue, remember his mom sitting there for an age telling him to finish his meal. He'd never liked vegetables, never wanted to eat them, but now he bit into a raw onion, groaning at the taste. He wiped his mouth and watched the sun fall behind the trees. He thought of his dad and his farming.

 _There's no point anymore. Just stay alive._ Carl shook his head and went to go inside, when he heard a grunt. The small familiar grunt he hadn't heard since the prison. It was pink and round, nosing about in the dirt not far from where he stood. He checked the outline of the trees, watching for movement. He could risk it, he could risk the noise for the sweet taste of bacon. It had been so long. So long. He grabbed the pig, pulling his blade across its throat quickly.

One squeal, then two, then silence. The pig was bleeding on to his hands, twitching as it died.

It tasted like heaven, Jonah said as much as they dug into the veritable banquet in front of them. Carl felt like a king, black out curtains were up, and the lantern flickered orange light across their faces, and sent their food as shadows halfway up the wall, dancing with the flame. Jonah raised a small cup full of water.

'I propose a toast.' Carl looked at him, mouth full of food, and eye for once filled with something he'd almost forgotten existed, joy.

'A toast to you my good friend, for this fine meal, and to the road ahead. May the dead fall beneath our feet.' Carl chuckled as he raised his cup to meet Jonah's.

'To farming.' Carl muttered taking a sip of water. Jonah nodded raising his cup again.

'To farming.' They were silent for a while.

'Lucy would have liked you.' Carl knew he was lying, from what he'd heard of Lucy he knew she would never associate with the likes of him. He was a murderer, a killer, a monster. But it was the biggest compliment Jonah could give him. So he took it greedily, holding it in the darkness.

'I think Nine would like you too.' Carl blushed. He thought of Nine often, what she would be like, what she would say. But to meet her, to talk to her wasn't something he felt he was ready for. He knew her, he'd read her story and all she was. He knew her thoughts, her secrets, he'd seen how the black of her heart matched his, and he wasn't sure that was okay. Wasn't sure that was normal. He'd just be a copy of everyone who'd ever hurt her, who'd ever tried to kill her. Starving, alone, just trying to survive. If he met her she would try to kill him, and he'd probably try to kill her.

But there was a part of him that held onto the hope. Because maybe things would get better, like they already had. Maybe they'd meet differently. In a place and time where he could tip his head and say hello, where she could say it back. He could hold the book between them as a silent offering, reach across the distance and hold her hand. It was a childish notion, something of the boy within him. There would be no hello, no silent offerings. The hello would be a threat, the book would be a knife, and he'd reach across and take her life. Or she would take his.

'What's she like?' Carl realised he'd asked it before, realised he'd been told. But he asked anyway.

'Stubborn. She just refused to die. I don't know what it was, but something, something within her just wasn't ready to give up. So she didn't.' Jonah shrugged and poured himself some more water, the sound filled the small kitchen they were sat in. 'I hope that hasn't changed.'

Carl nodded, picking at the remnants of his food. He wasn't used to not being hungry. The feeling was strange, kind of like a sickness. He swallowed hoping to keep the food down.

'I never did thank you.' Carl looked up at Jonah, he was staring at the flame between them intently. Carl said nothing.

'You saved my life, so thank you.' Finally he looked up at Carl, and Carl didn't know what to do. People didn't thank anymore, it just was. They saved your life, you saved theirs, that's just the way it went. He couldn't think of anything to do or say. Jonah got up, clasping a hand on Carl's shoulder as he moved past. He felt a warmth, a warmth he hadn't felt since he'd seen Judith, since he'd seen his dad. It settled right at the bottom of his heart, taking some of the chill away. He wasn't sure what to do with it, but he smiled at it. It was a stranger, an unknown, but it was nice for a change.

 _I try not to think of people._

 _But it's difficult on the road. I think they're going to be just over the hill waiting. Waving their arms, they'll gather me up and ask me where the hell I've been. And ill cry, gripping onto them with all the strength within me, telling them never to let me go. When we reach the top though, they're gone, the ground shimmers with the heat, and they're over the next hill. It's a constant torture, and they are constantly not there. Constantly not with me._

 _I told Jonah I felt like a puzzle, one of those million piece puzzles, with endless amounts of sky. We used to do them together as a family. The sea would be rushing just outside, and we'd all be bent over a table, fitting pieces together. Joy painting our faces every time we reunited them. Jonah didn't understand me, and I'm not sure I do._

 _But they are my missing pieces. There's little bits of me littered wherever I've been. Parts of myself and I'll never be reunited with them again. I'll never be complete again. Mom, dad, Jenna and Jimmy, they are my corner pieces, the one's you start with. You dig them out the pile, and build around them._

 _What is there to build round now? When will there be nothing left to take?_

 _I guess Jonah gave me something back, he brought along all his awkward puzzle pieces, all the ones he had left, and we make this broken, but wonderfully beautiful picture of life. Like those pieces that look like they could so easily fit together, but you know they don't. You look close enough they are wrong. You look close enough they are broken and twisted. We are broken and twisted._

 _And I guess we always will be, because they are never going to be just over the hill, they are back home, dead and buried, or just gone. We will never be reunited, not here anyway. Not in this life, not in this world._

 _I wish though sometimes, just for a second, I'd like to remember what it felt like to be whole._

It must have been the pigs squeal, it must have been. Carl nodded to himself as he supported Jonah, dragging him across the field towards the woods. The horde was behind them, smaller than most he'd seen, but big enough to be a problem. He hadn't been paying attention when they'd left, he'd been too happy, picking vegetables for their journey, listening to Jonah humming in the kitchen. He should have noticed, should have seen them. But by the time they did, they were out the house, and there was no time to get back to safety. It was just a case of keeping moving.

Carl could have screamed, it wouldn't have been a problem if Jonah just used the walker blood. But he refused, flat out refused to paint his skin. And now the walkers knew they were there. They went wild at the smell of fresh meat, their teeth knocking together, snarling and twisting their heads this way and that, tasting the air. Jonah stumbled and Carl nearly fell with him, both their bags on his back, throwing him off balance.

 _Keep moving. Keep moving._ They had to keep moving, that was their best chance. To just keep going and not look back. As soon as they were safe, Carl was determined to hold Jonah down and paint him with the walker blood himself.

They were nearly at the fence, right by it. It was just a case of getting Jonah over there.

Jonah screamed in pain, the walkers gurgled and groaned in answer, their stumbling concentrated towards them.

It was a bear trap, a rusty bear trap no doubt left by the farmer to guard his land. It was clamped around Jonah's leg, and blood was dripping onto the metal. Carl bent down tugging at it, Jonah cried out some more, and the bear trap just wouldn't move. The hinges rusted.

'Come on, come on, come on.' Carl mumbled, his hands slipping as more blood coated the rust, making it impossible to grip. He looked up, they were getting closer, the stench they brought made him slightly sick; he gulped and turned back to the bear trap. Carl panicked, he could feel it in the back of his throat, he tried to swallow it, but it came back, again and again.

'Carl, you need to go.' Jonah's voice was rough and deep. He was scared Carl could tell. He was scared and stuck, no choice but to face the death that was walking towards him, calling out to him.

'No.' Carl shook his head, tears running down his cheek and falling into the long grass, disappearing out of sight.

'Carl you…' Carl was shaking his head again. Then Jonah lifted him, grunting at the strain, launching him over the fence. He threw the bags at him as he tried to climb back over. The horde were nearly on them.

'Carl you need to go. You need to go, son. Go find hope, go find your family.' Carl's hands shook at his sides. His head was shaking again, and Jonah was trying desperately to smile at him.

'I won't let them…' He pulled out his gun, holding it in front of him aiming at Jonah's head. Jonah closed his eyes.

Carl thought of when he'd tried to kill his dad. He'd held the gun, he'd aimed, and then given up. He couldn't do it, couldn't live on with his dad being one of them. But he'd been a boy then, he'd been weak. He was a man now.

'Just do it, Carl.'

 _Do it, Carl. End it. End it._

 _I am a man. I can do this. I'm a man._

One shot. Minus one bullet.

His ears rang in the silence that followed. Walker faces were snarling, ripping and tearing, but they made no noise. Jonah's head was slumped forward, he didn't move, didn't cry. Carl hadn't missed.

In the quiet he heard them. Just murmurs at first, their voices piling over one another, his missing pieces, desperate to be heard. One voice rose above the others, clear and familiar. Jonah. _You're alone now._

Carl's knees buckled beneath him, and the gun fell from his hands into the dirt.

 _All alone._


	10. Jonah

Jonah

He ran. Ran until his lungs hurt in his chest, till each breath was a painful stab and as desperate as his grip on reality. The bags weighed heavy on his shoulders making his back ache. Finally it was too much, the world blurring past making him dizzy, so he stopped; collapsing in a crumpled heap, nestled between the roots of a tree. He wretched, his stomach turning.

 _You have to live._ Carl turned as he heard Jonah's voice, expecting him to be there, resting on his crutches, looking at him the bemused way he always did. The wind blew through the trees, and the leaves shivered, brushing a melody into the air.

But no Jonah. Nothing and no one.

 _All alone._

He'd sat there for some time, watching as they feasted on his friend, expecting to feel something, anything. But nothing shifted within in him, there was no gut wrenching guilt, no stab of loss. He was hollow, as hollow as a living breathing person could be. But he didn't feel living, and he really didn't feel like breathing.

 _I'm not really here, I can't be._

 _You're in shock. Get up. You need to move. Walker blood or not they'll know you're there eventually._ At first he'd ignored his dad's voice, staring at the dirt gathering round his knees, but the he'd got shakily to his feet. He placed the bags on his bag, alerting a walker to his presence. It snapped and snarled at him, the fence bowing under its weight but not giving way. Others began to take notice.

Carl ran. He ran for no other reason than to make sure he still could. That there was somewhere to run to; that the world wasn't small and he wasn't the only on left. He'd started to cry. Tears dripped onto his feet, they fell down his cheek and onto his chapped lips. He tasted them and cried some more.

 _You need to get a grip_. His dad's voice growled at him, from the depths of the darkness. Carl clawed at his head, trying to take deep breaths. They shook through him, but slowly he calmed. The world stopped blurring, and his chest didn't burn.

 _All alone._

He opened up his bag, taking stock of his items. Ropes, black out curtains, a small stub of a candle, food, water. The book weighed heavily in his hands. It was pointless and it made him angry. So he threw it. It cartwheeled in the air, pages opening to catch the breeze. It landed with a small thud, and Carl screamed at it.

Next was the dog, he threw that in much the same direction he threw the book. Swearing and screaming at the sky. Judith wasn't alive, she couldn't be. There was nothing and no one in the world; no hope, there was no safe place waiting. There was just him, and he wasn't sure he wanted to do it anymore.

The gun was cold again as he held it. He put the barrel in his mouth, hands still and ready. He pulled the trigger. It clicked at him. He tried again. It clicked again.

 _Just in case, just in case, just in case._ He repeated over and over again each time he pulled the trigger, and each time it clicked at him.

 _Minus one, Carl._ He screamed in anger, his saliva coating the metal as he pulled the trigger over and over, desperate to die, he was ready, he wanted it. He hurled the gun.

'I WANNA FUCKING DIE. YOU HEAR ME.' No one answered. Carl sobbed, curling into himself.

After a while he got up. He picked up the dog, picked up the book, brushing off the dirt. He placed them back in his bag. Then he sorted through Jonah's things, he took the razor, took the small mirror. Then after some deliberation took the picture of Jonah and his wife. He tucked it into the pages of the book, enclosing the smiling pair in the safety of Nine's words.

Then he started to walk, in no particular direction, he just walked hoping to find someone or something to kill him.

 _I miss Jonah._

 _Sometimes I think I see him out of the corner of my eye, or hear him laughing. But when I look he's never there._

 _I miss the fighting, I miss the dancing. Miss the way he'd talk about his wife, keeping her alive for himself, but making her real for me._

 _I want to tell him that I got away, that I manged to get away from them and all they did to me. My back still hurts, and my head is sore, but I'm alive, and I'm real. It's difficult to keep hoping, to keep dreaming, when there's nothing to look forward to._

 _Jonah tried to save me, tried to help me. It's because of him that I'm here, sat beneath this tree writing. Jimmy used to say that my writing was just a way to escape the world, getting away from reality. But he was wrong. Writing is my reality, it's my sanity. It's the world I live in all the time. I never leave these pages. What I am without this book is hollow. I feel like a stranger has grown around me, and they're crushing me. I don't know this skin, don't know this world. But when I write, when I think about how things used to be, and write it all down, it makes sense. The world within my book makes sense._

 _I look back and Jonah is alive within it, he's alive and we are together. It's fragile I know, but what isn't in this world, what isn't fragile. The man that carved my back, he was fragile. His neck snapped like a twig when he fell awkwardly. Then I bashed his head in. That was fragile too. Like cracking open a melon and watching the mushy centre paint the floor._

 _I wish I could talk to Jonah about it. I wasn't wrong I know that, but I loved it. I smiled at the blood, smiled at the death._

 _Where is Jonah? I hope he's alive. If there is anyone that could survive it's him. I hope we find each other soon. I'll keep walking and he'll be there waiting, that bemused smile on his face, the stories of his wife behind his eyes. I'm sure I'll see him again._

 _But I miss him._

 _Miss his fighting, miss his dancing, miss his unwavering optimism. Without it I don't have much._

Carl read and re read her writing, his tears painting the page with his sadness. He clung to the book, drawing it close to his face, as if seeking some sort of comfort from the words, but they gave him none. They were just words, and he was small and insignificant.

'I miss him too.' He blubbed. The weakness making him cry more. He was weak, he was weak and ready to die. Ready to end it all. He couldn't be alone anymore, he didn't know how to do it.

But he was alone

All alone. And he missed his friend.


	11. Death

He started with the knife, tried shoving it up through his brain. The cold metal pressed against his chin, the brushing against the bristles of his stubble, it made him think of Jonah so he pressed the knife harder, until he felt his own blood trickle down his fingers in a small warm stream. He wanted it all to end, he really did, but his hand just wouldn't move.

 _You can't do this, son, you have to live. What about me, what about Judith?_

'What about you. You're dead, all of you are fucking dead.'

 _You don't know that, son._

He knew his dad wasn't in his head, but the voice was so real, so calming, just like he remembered, and the knife wouldn't move any further, it thudded onto the ground in front of him, a small line of glistening red, glinting in the sunlight.

He tried walkers. He'd passed through a small village tucked away in the woods. He'd cluttered about, kicking over bins, screaming at the top of his lungs, but silence answered. Silence followed him, it looked over his shoulder as he checked each and every house, as he fumbled through their cupboards, as he trampled over their belongings, over their memories. When he reached the church the silence opened up before him, finally explaining itself. There must have been at least 50 of them. They were all packed into the church, their heads bowed in decaying prayer, back of their heads blown out. Carl walked down the aisle, there were children, women, men, all of them gone, all of them dead, the priest was flung across the alter still waiting for his God to turn up.

Carl sat down beside and old woman, her mouth hung open, the gun still sitting in her palm, decaying finger still half-heartedly curled towards the trigger. Carl took it, and brought it to his mouth. He squeezed the trigger, and the gun clicked at him.

He flung it across the room sobbing. Carl had become accustomed to death. It was something that happened every day. Enid had been right, people did die all the time. It was a fact of life, a fact of death. It lingered in the air like a bad smell, waiting just out of sight, hiding in the shadows. It had followed and hunted as he'd run again and again for life. It was always hot on his heels, always ready.

But now he'd decided to stop, to turn and face it, look it in the eye, and death just wasn't there. He could see where it had been, could see the scars of it everywhere, but it didn't want him, no matter how much he offered. Death didn't like being handed anything, and so it ignored him. He found the lake not far from the village, all lit up with moonlight, glowing silver; death had sat on the side lines, watching him curiously, doing nothing but dangle its feet in the water.

He sank beneath the surface letting the liquid silver swallow him into darkness. Their faces jumped out at him in the black, his dad, his mom, Judith, Daryl, Michonne, Carol; they were all there. Their faces a blurry mess as their memories faded.

 _You're leaving us, Carl. You're gonna become one of them and leave us._

 _You said you'd find us, said that you'd be back. You promised us, you promised Judith._

 _My little boy, I love you so much. I'm so proud of you. Don't give up now. You're so close. So close._

He could hear Beth singing _I'll gently rise and I'll softly call, good night and joy be with you all._

The air in his lungs bubbled up around him as he pushed his way to the surface in a panic, gasping for breath. He could still hear them, whispering below the surface, waiting in the water.

He lay back letting himself float, gazing up at the stars that shone through the branches of the trees. 'Why won't you let me die?'

 _Because you have to live. For all of us, you have to live._

 _I miss showers. I miss being clean, actually clean._

 _No filth, no grime, no crap hanging on because there just isn't enough water to wash it off. I swear I'm reaching the point where no amount of water in the world will get me clean. I still think I can see blood on my hands, brown and cracked, nestling down the side of my finger nails, burrowed into skin. It's become a piece of me that doesn't want to leave._

 _I found water today. The rarity of it astounds me. Water used to just be there. Waiting in taps. Sometimes I just turn them on, just to see if there's a chance it's been there all along waiting. But as of yet I haven't been that lucky. You never know though, one day I might be. I think if that happened, that's where I'd stay. I'd make my home there. Build up my walls, make some fences, grow some vegetables like Jonah and I spoke about._

 _I left one bottle behind. I don't know why I did it. I think a part of me hopes that Jonah is just behind me. That he's waiting to find me, and when he sees the water and the way it smiles at him, he'll know and then we'll be back on the road together, just like before. Or maybe it's because kindness is rare now, as rare as water in taps, as rare as finding two bottles of water._

 _Maybe someone left them out of kindness, maybe they hoped that I'd find them, that I'd live because of them. So when I let the water roll under the shelves, listening as it clunked along the back wall, I hoped that whoever found it would live, that they'd see my water smiling at them and they'd want to live. I hope that they find me one day, we could hold our bottles out to each other as a greeting, like a handshake._

 _It's a small thing to hold onto, but I'm going to. That someone out there is surviving because of me. Because of my kindness. I didn't know I still had it in me to care, but its there. It's nestled deep in my belly, like a flutter of butterflies. It's nice and fragile, a little piece of who I used to be, and I want it to survive this world if nothing else does. I want it to survive, just like the stranger and the water._

Carl stared at his water, and it smiled up at him. He touched it lightly with his finger, tracing the smile, finding himself smiling as he followed the curve.

'You saved me again.' And Carl didn't want to die anymore. He had Nine. She was with him, keeping him safe. And she was something to live for. It was small. It was as small as finding a bottle of water, as rare as kindness and as impossible as finding a bit of himself in all the death of the world. But like most rare things, it was worth holding on to.


	12. Just A Word

There were so many of them, their moans and grunts like a buzz on the air. They shifted and stumbled over one another, leaving a trail of floored walkers, their arms reaching up to the sky as if worshipping the pilgrimage. There were so many of them. Carl couldn't remember ever seeing so many in one place, even at Alexandria. They trailed the landscape, a river of death running through the valley. He'd been lucky, whatever was calling them on their journey was louder than his suicidal ramblings.

He could have called death to him, could have shouted and they'd have turned to him, teeth gnashing, flesh hanging off their hungry faces, but he didn't. Nine was the weight of a bottle of water in his pocket, smiling up at him with a kindness he was certain he'd never find again. He wanted to live. Whatever that meant to him now, he wanted to do it. But Hope was out of the question. Whatever was calling the walkers in their great masses, was calling them towards Hope, and if the walkers were heading that way he wanted nothing to do with it.

 _You have to try, for Jonah's sake. For all our sakes._

Carl shook his head, turning away. He fell back under the cover of the forest, moving silently. Sometimes he forgot that Jonah was dead, just for a moment. He'd look beside him expecting to see his friend. He'd drop his thoughts into the air and expect the big man to reply, expect him to laugh. It was distracting, made him angry. The memory of Jonah was a weakness that he could afford to have, but he had it anyway.

He found a shed, rickety, small and filled with tools used in another life. The sun shone through gaps in the wood setting dust particles alight, they danced in the air in front of him as he did his best to clear the cobwebs. He nodded once, pulling rope out his bag, tying Yosemite bowline knot around the door handle. It dropped off in his hand, the wood around it falling in rotten clumps on the floor. Swearing, he tied the rope around the hook on the door, and the other round the bottom of some small shelves, pushing bits of wood against the bottom of the door to keep it shut. Then he slowly unpacked his bag; rope, black out curtains, razor, small compact mirror, one rotting apple, one book, one stuffed toy, and one picture of a dead friend and his wife.

He placed all his knives in a neat row, touching each of them with the tip of his finger. Then he set up the mirror and did his best to shave. He still wasn't very good at it, but the filth caught in the hair growing out his chin was beginning to annoy him, and he knew that Jonah would have been disappointed. When Carl closed his eye he could see his big friend shaking his head at him.

 _Facial hair just doesn't suit you. Makes you look dodgy._

'I am dodgy. I kill people,' Carl mumbled as he drew the blade across his cheek, small bits of hair falling onto the small work bench in front of him.

 _Yeah but you don't want your face to give that away do you?_

Carl smiled, 'No I guess not.'

Afterwards he sat down with the book, pressing himself up close to the wooden wall, using the sunlight peeking through the gaps to read the words.

 _I miss sweet shops._

 _I miss the magic of walking into them. The sugary smell of them, how bright they always were no matter what the sky outside was doing._

 _I found one. It was only small; empty jars were strewn all over the floor, their contents long since gone, the shelves were empty and it was dark._

 _Lemon sherbets, they were my favourite. I can still feel the lemony fizz of them on my tongue._

 _I met crossbow man in the sweetshop. His frame filled the doorway and he was staring at me down the length of a bolt. 'Who are you?' He spoke slowly, all the while moving further into the store. I don't know why he didn't scare me, even with everything that has happened, even with all the evil. His hair was long and greasy, plastered to his face, and his eyes looked dark and sad. There was no kindness there, but there was no malice either._

' _I'm Nine.'_

' _I asked you your name not your age.'_

' _That is my name.' He nodded lowering the crossbow, a scowl furrowing his head as if he didn't like talking._

' _I'm Daryl.'_

Carl nearly dropped the book, his heart stuttering in his chest, blood loud in his ears. Daryl was alive? He's survived somehow and he was out there? He'd met Nine? He stared down at the words, willing himself to be there, willing himself to find them. But it was just ink on paper, the moment was gone and Daryl could have been anywhere. The frustration of it made Carl grumble, He felt like he should do something, anything. But there was nothing, just him alone in the middle of a wood, dust dancing in the sunlight falling on powerfully mundane words.

 _He was an alright guy, we sat and ate together, watching world from out the sweet shop window. He said he and his group are trying to find somewhere safe to settle. Is there anywhere safe? I'm sure there must be, but then what? He said I should go with them, extended the hand of friendship so to speak, and I just stared at it uncertain whether I even wanted to be a part of anything anymore. It was like meeting grey haired lady, with the steel blue eyes. I was so alone, but I didn't want to be with anyone._

 _He went out to talk to them, a great group of them. They turned up in a mass of confusion and uncertainty. They looked like they'd been on the road a long time, their eyes haunted with all the bad things that had found them along the way. I made my escape then, slipping between buildings and away from them. They didn't chase me, didn't try to find me. Like a ghost or a shadow I faded out of their lives as if I was never there._

 _I guess I could have joined them. They could have been my family. Crossbow man could have adopted me and we could have protected each other. But I couldn't and I won't. I feel like I'm searching for something but I don't know what it is. Whatever it is, it's always out of reach. Everything is not quite right, not quite there. So I just keep moving, just keep wandering. Maybe crossbow man understood that, that's why he didn't follow me._

 _The W on my forehead aches, I've managed to grow my hair enough to cover it, I trace it sometimes. It makes me think of Jonah, makes me think of hate, all the shit they put us through. The pain gets so much sometimes that I choke on it._

 _I wonder what it would have been like to have stayed with the group. I might run into them again. Maybe then I'll find what I'm looking for. Seeing them I'll just know. But they are uncertain in a world where anything uncertain means death. I can't risk that. Trust is just a word now, a small insignificant word. And words can't keep you safe._

Carl was distracted, thoughts of Daryl, of the group and Nine circled his head making it impossible to concentrate. Nine had seen Daryl, had spoken to him, and if Daryl was alive and with a group, who else was alive? He was thinking so much he didn't hear the footsteps behind him, didn't see the shadows sneaking through the forest.

He knew he'd made a mistake when he felt a sharp pain on the back of his head and everything went black.


	13. Cannibals

The pain was sickening and loud, waking him several times. His eyes would falter open; colours and light blurring, wobbly figures moved across his line of sight, then faded into black as he passed out again.

Voices echoed within the darkness, screams shattered the silence.

 _Find your way back. You promised. You promised._

 _Carl? Carl where are you?_

 _It's their world now, we're just living in it._

'Can't fucking believe this, kid has a fucking razor! What the hell he need it for?'

The earth was cold against Carls cheek, the rope irritated his skin and his head hurt. But he was awake, and the people that had taken him were sat a small distance away from him. They were all hunched round a small fire, Carl's belongings in between them like a treasure. He watched them all closely as he began manoeuvring the 'just in case' knife out his boot. He could feel the small fold away blade pressed against the bone of his ankle, the pain made him sigh with relief.

One of them looked up at him, just as he'd managed to tuck the knife safely into the palm of his hand, 'Well look who's awake.' The man grinned; he had very little teeth and those he did have were on their way out. The rest of them turned, their faces red in the firelight, their grins matching in gaps and brokenness.

'Lucky for you we've saved you some food.' He was old, his wrinkles deep, piling on top of one another round his eyes and mouth. That's when Carl noticed the 'food' he was referring to. An arm was roasting nicely over the fire, juices dripping into the embers, making them hiss, fingers splayed like it had been cut off mid wave. Carl wretched.

The man sat at the head of the group laughed, his long grey hair falling over his eyes. 'It would seem our guest is a little squeamish. Bring him over here Madge.'

Madge rose slowly, she was wearing a long brown dress and a knee length black coat, and she moved like an animal searching for prey; her head moving this way and that, knees bent, each step calculated and measured so as to make as little noise as possible. She knelt down bringing her face close to Carls, he leant back as she sniffed him, her mouth breaking into a grin, she had no teeth left. Her face was skeletal and drawn, her eyes constantly moving, seeking out phantoms that only she could see. She'd tattooed small dots along her cheeks and her mouth, now no longer grinning, pointed downwards in perpetual sadness.

When her fingers wrapped around Carl's arm he was surprised by the strength of her grip, wincing as her nails dug into his skin painfully.

Carl's stomach turned as he fell against Madge, and she licked him, dragging her tongue up the length of his neck all the way to his ear, her breath rancid. 'Mmmm tasty.'

'Patience Madge. We don't want to waste good meat now do we.' Madge shook her head and threw Carl in front of the fire, his knees jarred against the earth painfully. Madge settled down next to him, her bony shoulder pressed against him, her head falling onto his shoulder.

'Just like my Benny. Just like my Benny.'

The old man at the head of the group shook his head sadly. 'You'll have to excuse Madge. We lost Benny a few weeks ago.' At the sound of someone else saying Bennys name, Madge wailed, it was loud and one of the men sat round the fire reached across and hit her. She whimpered quietly and placed her head back on Carls shoulder.

'you won't let them hurt me will you Benny, will you.'

'So, what do we call you?' The old man rose as he spoke, cutting a slice of meat from the arm in front of him, and feeding it slowly into his mouth, chewing as if savouring the taste. He nodded to one of his men and they hit Carl across the face, sending him flailing to the side. Madge lifted him, placing his head on her lap. Her clothes smelt like rotting flesh and sweat, and her fingers were brushing against the wound on the back of his head, sending stars into his vision. The knife, he had to concentrate on the knife.

'I'll ask you again. What is your name? Madge let the boy up.' She did and Carl slowly lifted his head, blinking away the blur, trying desperately to stop his world spinning.

'Carl,' He gulped. 'My names, Carl.' Carl opened the knife out slowly, slicing his finger on the blade, but he didn't wince. He let the pain focus his concentration. He had to cut the rope. He had to cut the rope.

'Well, Carl, it is a pleasure to meet you. I think we can all agree that we would like you to join us in our feast.' The group nodded together, the first rope broke, falling silently onto the back of Carl's boots.

'This is a special honour you see; Simon was one of us. But he slowed us down. When we eat our own we are worshipping Amallil, and their spirits live forever within us.'

'Amallil, may their spirits guide us!' The group chanted together as they each cut off a slice of meet and slowly ate, their eyes cast downward as if praying.

'It is our way, and only through doing this will we truly live. Amallil will protect what is hers, she will protect us.'

'Amallil, protect and guide us.' The group answered. Sweat was beading on Carls brow, the second rope proving difficult to cut.

'Who is Amallil.' He muttered, trying to buy himself some time. The old man lifted his arms to the sky, smoke twirling lazily round the hand that held the small knife. 'Amallil is the goddess of our people, the goddess of the spirit eaters. She has shown us the way in such troubled times and we have lived.'

'Except Benny. Benny was bad, he didn't obey.' Madge muttered quickly rocking back and forward, nearly throwing Carl off balance.

'Amallil will guide you, as she has guided us. But first,' He signalled to Madge, and she crawled towards the fire pulling a small shard of glass from out her coat pocket. She closed her eyes a while muttering under her breath before cutting off a slice of meat and crawling back over to where Carl was knelt. He'd nearly cut the rope. The men around the fire watched expectantly as Madge sat opposite Carl her face level with his. Carl could see the lice crawling in her hair, could see the dark colour of her tongue as she grinned at him.

'You can have my share, Benny.' Madge quickly pressed her chapped lips to Carls, and Carl heaved as she traced her tongue along his bottom lip. She tasted like death. She lifted the meat to Carl's lips, then stopped. Her mouth was opening and closing, blood dripping down her chin. Carl had cut the rope and his knife was embedded in her neck. Madge gurgled and the men around the fire rose to their feet. Carl jumped to his feet, bloody knife in hand and dead Madge at his feet. Then the walkers came through the trees.

There was a great line of them. Carl figured they must have broken away from the mass exodus of walkers moving toward Hope. He quickly climbed the nearest tree, one of the cannibals grabbed at his ankle, bony hand closing round it. Carl kicked out, the mans nose crunching beneath is boot. He fell pulling Carl's boot off. The man screamed as a walker bore down on him, is teeth closing round his broken nose and pulling it from his face in a bloody mess. The screams carried on for time, before they gurgled into nothing. Carl waited the small group of Cannibals scattering, some of them fighting, most of them dying. He waited till dawn painted the sky red, till the sun had risen high in the sky, it took a while but the walkers moved on, stumbling again towards whatever was calling them to Hope. Carl dropped down from the tree, dodging the arm of Walker Madge as she reached for him. Carl stabbed her in the head, and let her fall to the earth. He felt sort of sorry for her, the world had driven her mad, as the world had a tendency to do. Wasn't her fault she couldn't handle it.

He set about finding the rest of his stuff. He could only find one knife, but the rest of his stuff was there. He sighed with relief when he found the book and the stuffed dog both still present and correct, he held them close to his chest for a moment. Then he shrugged the bag onto his bag, picking his jacket off a dead Cannibal and making his way into the wood. He needed to be more careful.

 _I miss being able to relax._

 _Even in the most silent and still moments, I still feel on edge. I still feel like someone is waiting to hurt me, to take something from me. I wish I could just lay back and close my eyes, bask in the warmth of the sun._

 _I miss being able to sun bathe._

 _Lying back on the warm earth letting the sun paint you brown. I guess there's no point anymore. There's no reason to look good anymore. There's no one to impress._

 _I found some makeup today. I painted it on my lips. I looked like a clown. The red harsh and bright compared to the pale white of my face. I don't think I look like a girl anymore. Maybe once I was pretty, I had long hair, just a bit darker than Jenna's; my mom's smile, and my dad's eyes, the colour of the sea on clear sunny day; all crystal and bright blue. Now they look darker, like a storm has rolled in and hasn't left. I don't think it ever will._

 _I broke the mirror, it cracked in the centre, a nice horizontal crack that ran across my neck. It looked like my head had been chopped off. I tried smiling but it didn't look right. I think I'm going crazy, I hear voices and sounds at night, louder than they've ever been._

 _Maybe this is what loneliness does to you, maybe this is the price for surviving. All the blood on my hands, all the people I have killed, they are the chorus in my head that won't let me sleep. I don't know whether I want to do this anymore, I don't know whether I can face another night, another day with them telling me to die. Maybe I should just give in. Wouldn't it be so easy?_

 _I miss simplicity. I miss not having to think too much about walking out the house. I miss that they only thing I ever had to worry about was what clothes to wear, what things to say._

 _Sometimes I want it so desperately, with all of me._

 _I miss that there was someone wonder in the world once. Some things were possible, though uncertain and fantastical, there was still some possibility of them breaking through all adversities and happening. Now there is no possibility, there is no fantastical, there is this world and death. And most of the time death seems so much more inviting than this world._


	14. Nine

The sea shimmered on the horizon, the sight of it shocking Carl to a standstill. The sand stretched out across the shore at the bottom the hill, and birds circled lazily in the air. There were walkers wondering the beach, their arms flailing wildly trying to catch the birds, as they dipped down to catch fish.

There was a small seaside town tucked into the dip of the land, small and quiet. Carl grinned, laughter bubbling out of him as he started to run. He fell into the sand, knees denting the small grains, bag falling down beside him and laughter turned to tears. He cried as he filled his hands with gold and watched it trickle through the gaps, sobbing with relief. It was real, it was real and in front of him. No more walking, no more searching. He would stay here, he would stay and wait for Nine.

He rose shakily to his feet, brushing the tears from his face, loving the rough scratch of the sand against his cheeks. He took out his knife and stabbed the walker nearest to him, he was dressed in grey overalls, and the name Charlie was stitched into the breast pocket. There was still a pen poking its head out the top. The next was a teenage girl, her crop top showing the large gash in her side where black organs were hanging and rotting. She growled at Carl and Carl sunk his knife into her eye. Carl worked his way through them one by one, till the beach was cleared and the birds circling above his head touched down and started picking at the rotting flesh, their excited cries filling the air. Carl piled them up just off the beach, then turned back to the sea.

It was cool against his feet, lapping at his toes, he marvelled as it sighed its way forward and back, waves tumbling over one another to meet him. He swam out, lying on his back and letting the sun paint his face.

'I'm sun bathing.' He mumbled to himself, chuckling at the absurdity, chuckling at the simplicity. Clean and refreshed he made his way back to the beach, walking the length of it, letting his clothes dry in the sun. He found a small alcove, tucked away and private, a small boat bobbed in the water. Its paint was all but gone, save for a few red patches, and the name had worn away apart from an L and an E. Carl inspected it, his heart hammering with hope in his chest. Could it be Adelaide? He looked around, noticing the slope of the hill into the small town, the cliff rising up out of the sea, and a house sat atop it.

'Is this where you lived?' Carl muttered as he inspected the inside of the boat, there was a puddle of stagnant water in the bottom of it but it still looked useable.

Carl pressed himself against the rocks, rummaging through his bag till he found the book. He set it on his lap for a while, He thought about Nine, how she'd feel that her words made it home. How she'd feel that he was waiting for her, that she wasn't alone.

'I can see why you missed it. It really is beautiful.'

Carl opened the book, the first words shattering his hopes, sending them falling around him.

 _I've been bit. So I guess I'm going to die._

The book nearly fell out Carls hands, it shook with the effort of keeping it upright.

 _Sometimes I think I'm going to be okay, that I'm different, but the wound keeps on bleeding, keeps on weeping and the fever keeps on getting worse and worse._

 _I'm mostly angry. Angry that I didn't see the dead thing coming, angry that I was so careless. It was a little kid, a little kid still wearing his pyjamas. His teeth grazed my arm and I stabbed him in the head. One simple graze and that's it, game over._

 _I suppose it's funny really, after all I've lived through, after all I've survived, I'm going to die now because of a child. I should have checked the rooms better, should have been more alert._

 _I guess it's my own fault for giving up, my own fault for wanting to die._

 _I wish I could go home, sometimes I close my eyes and the fever is so bad that I'm sure I'm there. I can hear the sea just outside my window, can hear mom and dad laughing together just downstairs. I want to see them, want to hear the voices, want to feel the soft touch of mom's head to my forehead, like she always did when I was ill. I suppose when all this is over we'll be together, all of us. We'll be together and we'll be happy._

 _I guess hope is_

The words ended and Carl stared at them for an age, willing more to appear, looking for an explanation. He searched the pages desperately, each one of them empty.

 _I told you not to hope. There is no hope._

He threw the book down and screamed, reality slapping him in the face. The whole time he'd been clinging to a dead girl, he'd been hoping for a miracle that had been gone long before he'd started reading. Reality hurt, reality ached in his gut and made him cry.

The loneliness was back, the real loneliness. It used to comfort him, but now it scared him. He had nothing anymore, nothing and no one. There was no stranger a world away whispering hope into his ears, no faceless stranger leaving him water and hoping with all her might that he was alive. She was dead, she'd always been dead, and his own stubbornness had stopped him from finding out sooner. Now there was no one to hope for him, no one to dream for him. No one to stop the steady drip of insanity, no one to keep the voices at bay. They were laughing at him, and he was screaming at them.

He stumbled to his feet, lifting the book up above his head, he wanted to throw it, wanted to send it flying into the sea. The water could wash the ink from the pages, wash Nine from his life. She'd never been real for him, never been alive. She was just a stranger with a book, and he was just a lonely fool. He tried to throw it but he couldn't let it go. He stared down at the worn cover, his finger tracing the M wearing the shoes.

'I wanted you to be real.' He muttered, tears splattering on the cover. He choked back a sob as he felt the cold press of steel against his throat.

'Who are you?' the voice was gravely and close to his ear. Carl remained silent, he was tired of surviving, and he hoped that the knife could offer him the peace he'd desperately been searching for. The edge bit into his skin as the stranger pulled the knife closer, blood tricking under the collar of his t-shirt.

'Who are you and what the fuck are you doing with my book?' Carl froze, breath leaving his lungs and book falling out his hands, clattering against his feet.

'Nine,' he choked on her name. Uncertain, and stupidly hopeful.

The knife lowered slowly, the cut stinging.

What he heard made him shake, hope building itself back up around him, all the impossibilities of the world becoming possible in an instant.

'How do you know my name?'


	15. Impossible Things

The scar shimmered silver in the sun and Carl stared at it, just below her elbow. She was smaller than he'd thought she'd be, short and wispy; hair chopped unevenly short. There was a large knife in her tiny hands and her eyes were the colour of the sea on a stormy day.

There were so many questions, a whole number of things he wanted to say, needed to know; they crowded his head making him dizzy, but for whatever reason he couldn't speak, couldn't shatter the silence. He'd imagined them meeting so many times, the thoughts of it had comforted him when he'd been trying to sleep, but the impossibility of her in front of him, the impossibility of their lives taking up the same space, rendered him completely silent.

Carl reached into his pocket, and she raised the knife higher, Carl looked at the knife, uncomfortable. He raised his one hand slowing his movements, bringing the bottle of water between them as if it were a grenade. The bottle top smiled at her and Carl stared at the sand sneaking glances at her face. Nine's eyes widened but she reached out tentatively placing her fingertip on the bottle top gently.

Carl thought she looked a bit like a pixie; all high cheekbones and startling features that made him pause and falter. Her skin was covered in walker blood, arms and face puckered with scars of various sizes and the jacket that was piled at her feet, was wrapped completely in duct tape. The key that hung round her neck glinted gold.

'You're alive? How….are you….how.' Every time he spoke his voice sounded strange, like he was an onlooker hearing someone else speak. Nine nodded slowly, her gaze not leaving the smiley face, then after some deliberation rummaged through the bag at her feet, knife still held up between them, eyes not leaving Carl. She pulled out a matching bottle of water, held it out. Smiley faces nearly touching.

'How are you alive?' Carl mumbled, staring at her eyes. She didn't say anything, simply turned away from him, grabbing her stuff and heading up the hill. Carl watched her leave, certain that he'd wake up, certain that he'd shock himself awake and he'd be alone again. But she was there, he could see her silhouette moving in the fading light. She was real and alive.

Carl grabbed his stuff following her to a small cottage perched near the cliff edge. It was small and white, the base painted blue, a porch facing out to sea, with a rusting swing that squeaked every now and again in the breeze. The door wasn't open, but someone had gone at one of the windows. Nine took the key from round her neck, holding it in front of her for some time, stroking the surface lightly with her thumb, then she used it to open the door, and stepped inside.

Carl hovered a while just outside the open door, staring at a surf board fixed to the outside wall. He knew Nine, knew how little trust she had for anything in the world. Being on the verge of entering the same enclosed space as her scared him. They were strangers, strangers that shared bottled water and a dancing man called Jonah. But she knew none of that and he wasn't sure how to begin to tell her.

Cautiously he stepped over the threshold, closing the door behind him slowly. He placed his bag on the floor digging out his rope.

'What are you doing?' The knife was pressed into his back. Carl raised his hands, allowing her to see the rope, and began slowly knotting the door, moving nothing but his hands. Nine shifted to the side of him watching, he could feel her gaze and it made him falter, the knot taking longer to do than normal. But he did it, and when he tugged the handle once, twice and turned to her she nodded. She let her arm fall down to her side, walking back down the hallway.

It was a small place, messy, chairs upturned, pictures knocked off surfaces, glass fractured from being trodden on. Carl picked one up, its coat of dust thick. He gently brushed it off. He guessed they must have been Nine's parents on their wedding day. The woman was beautiful, a huge smile in a white dress, her dad was a small man with eyes like Nine's. He placed the picture back on a table that housed a floral vase, a large piece of glass fell out the frame onto the table.

Carl found Nine in the kitchen, she was eating beans out of the can, there was an open can on the table in front of her, and when Carl walked in she stared at him for an age before pushing it towards him. It scraped against the wood.

Beans. They reminded him of the last time he ate them. There'd been a big bulk of a man sat across from him, tattoos on his neck and hope in his hands. Carl touched the can with his fingertip then finding it was real, took it in his hands. Guzzling down the food, unable to look at Nine, but he had the feeling that she was looking at him.

Their existence together was silent and awkward, neither quite ready to talk to the other, neither really wanting to be in the same space as the other. They spent days avoiding one another, eating food alone in separate parts of the house. But at night they both slept in the front room at night, their backs pressed against the wall at opposite ends of the room.

When Carl went through his nightly routine she would watch him, her knife resting in her lap. Carl would lay out his knives, polish them, and then take one from the line up, keeping it in his hands as he lay down.

 _You can't trust her. You don't know that she's Nine. She'll probably kill you in your sleep._ And so Carl didn't sleep, he kept himself awake, staring into the darkness at the other end of the room. He knew she wasn't sleeping either, the moon sometimes caught the whites of her eyes, or the silver of the blade she kept in her hands.

In the days that passed he found his shattered routine of reading from the book played on his mind. He didn't quite know how to rest without it, he knew that it was irrational, after all Nine was alive, Nine was real, and Nine was in whatever room he tried not to be in. But he needed it. Then he found her writing, and his days were filled with trying to get some of the pages from her. She looked different when she wrote. Carl would often hide behind a wall and sneak glances as she sat at the kitchen table. There was a window behind her that splattered sunlight into the room and set a backdrop of the blue sea behind her. She looked younger, the act of pouring her world into ink seemed to soften her features.

When Nine headed down to the beach to do some fishing, Carl took his opportunity digging through her belongings. It wasn't a book, just a pile of paper, folded and covered in spots of blood and dirt, but it was her writing, Carl could tell it anywhere, it was his hope. He flopped down by the wall brushing his fingers over the words, smiling softly to himself.

 _There are no impossible things. Some things happen and some things don't._

 _I guess that's why I'm alive, I guess that's why I'm not dead. The fever just kind of went, I just stopped being sick. I don't know whether to be happy or sad._

 _It strange being pulled back from death, it's like coming up for air, and for a moment your lungs stutter, unsure whether they know what they're supposed to do anymore. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do anymore. What does a living person do in a world of death? I feel like I should be going somewhere, should be trying to help. Am I special? Could I end this?_

 _I don't know whether I have the will to. I know its selfish but what would I do if the world did go back to normal. How could I go back to that? How could I pretend that everything that happened didn't? For now, I'm walking, for now I'm heading home. Or at least that's what I hope I'm doing. Everywhere looks the same now. One thing keeps me going though, when I find Jonah I can show him my scar, can stand before him grinning and tell him I really do have nine lives. He'll know what to do, he'll know where to go. He'll tell me stories about his wife, we'll fight and we'll dance. I'm certain now. I guess that's one good things that's come from all this, one good thing from being bitten. I'm certain now. Certain that one of those dead things won't kill me and I won't become one of them. It impossible, I know it is. Sometimes I look at the wound healing and I have to pick at it, just to feel the sting, just to know its real. It is real. And I am alive._

 _Of all the impossible things in the world, that is possible. So I guess other things can be too._

Carl heard the door shut, and quickly folded the paper way, standing up and walking away from her things. She stood in the doorway awkwardly, there were two fish in her hands and she was poking the scales.

'I don't…the knots on the..' she pointed at the rope hanging from the handle, an obvious attempt had been made. Carl headed over, flattening himself against the frame to shift past Nine, uncomfortable with how little space there was between them. Carl took the rope in his hands, knotting it like he'd done so many times, doing it slowly so that Nine could watch, which she did. The fish smelt, but Carl undid the knot, taking them from her and handing her the rope. It took her a while, and Carl had to show her several times, but she did it. She pulled the door once, twice then looked at him, something akin to pride on her face. Carl nodded and gave her the fish.

They ate the fish that night, across from each other at the kitchen table. 'I miss chocolate.' Carl dropped it into the silence between them and Nine looked up at him. They ate some more in the silence.

'Your name?' Nine mumbled.

'What?' Carl looked up at her and Nine swallowed like she was uncomfortable with the words she was about to speak.

'What's your name. You know mine so….'

'I'm Carl.' Nine nodded at his name, mumbling it slightly to herself.

Nine watched as he went through his nightly routine like she did every night, and when he laid his knives out in from of him, all polished and gleaming, he left them all there, lying back on the makeshift bed he had made on the floor out of sofa cushions. Neither of them had ventured upstairs apart from to check it was all clear. Carl didn't know why Nine didn't, he put it down to her just keeping an eye on him, and for that he didn't blame her.

That night he slept, thinking of Nine. How she was real and alive, as impossible and unbelievable as it all seemed she survived and was with him, catching fish and learning to tie knots. He thought of his dad, of Judith, he thought of everyone. If Nine could survive maybe they could do, maybe he could see them again. If surviving a walker bite wasn't impossible then nothing was.


	16. All Demons

The storm was screaming outside the window, rods of lightening shooting into the sea, lighting up the night like the flash of a camera. In those fleetingly bright moments Carl saw the sea swelling in tremendous waves; saw the reflection of candlelight glimmering in the beads of raindrops smashing themselves against the window.

Carl gazed down at the map spread across the table, wincing as his fingers began to spasm. He frowned down at his hand, holding the wrist and the fingers twitched of their own accord. The wound in his palm started to bleed.

For days they'd been silent, had fallen gently into the routines they felt comfortable with, routines not involving each other. Nine would disappear in the morning, and Carl would re-knot the door; then he'd sit and read, taking in Nine's world one word at a time. Then she'd return with fish, knocking on the door 5 times, Carl would un-knot the door then watched as she re-knotted it, checking the handle twice. Then Carl would clean his knives, unpacking and re-packing his back pack, before sitting on the porch and listening to the voices in his head. He didn't know what Nine did in that time, but when it went dark she'd re-appear and cook for them. They'd eat in silence and settle down to sleep at opposite ends of the front room.

Then everything had blown up. Blown up in a mass of screaming, punching and the demons in each of them colliding with their own messed up darkness. Nine had retreated completely after that, her eyes wide with fear, bloodshot from crying.

He'd been shaving, something he did meticulously, one part of his life that he was able take pride in. He could hear Jonah in his head, _You're not half bad at that._ It wasn't much but it gave him a semblance of peace. Now that the reading of Nine's words was erratic he needed a constant.

He could see her face in the mirror, staring at him with a deep sadness he knew well. She didn't speak for some time, so Carl brought the razor back to his head. He kept it on him at all times, after the incident with the cannibals he didn't want to risk losing it, it had been Jonah's.

'Just like…' Nine stuttered, and Carl paused, razor poised near his head. He knew what she was trying to say. It reminded her of Jonah, he knew because every time he felt the small pieces of hair fall on his shoulders, he thought of the first time Jonah cut his hair. He thought of the huge man with his tiny wife and he felt like Jonah was alive again; sitting with him, laughing at him.

Carl put the razor on the table next to the mirror, turning his head slightly to Nine. She was staring at the floor.

'I knew….I knew him. Jonah I mean.' Nine's eyes widened, looking up at him. Carl tried to meet her eyes in the mirror but failed, he couldn't bear to see the hope. He turned slowly, sitting sideways on the chair, a shiver running up his spine as hair fell down his back onto the floor. His shoulders hunched under the weight of Jonah's loss. He stared at his feet, his hands shifting uncomfortably in front of him.

'I..we travelled together for a long time.' Carl shook his head as he realised his eye was filling with tears.

'Where is he?' she whispered at first, her voice barley reaching his ears, then she was shouting and Carl's head hurt at the sound.

'TELL ME WHERE HE IS.'

'He's…he's dead.' Tears were falling from her eyes and dripping onto the floor, the sight made Carl's heart ache.

'How…. how did he die?' Carl stood, uncertain what to do, uncertain what to say. He knew he wanted to make it better, wanted to make Jonah come back, but he had nothing. Nothing but the truth.

'I shot him.'

The first blow hit his nose, and it hurt. Then she was hitting his stomach, winding him. Carl groaned, trying to push her away.

'Nine.' He choked on her name as she hit him again.

'Nine, please.' The Knife slashed his cheek, and Carl moved back, blocking her blows.

'Nine…I' she lunged forward, knife aimed for his stomach, and Carl grabbed it, the blade biting into his skin. She pushed on the handle harder, Carl screamed.

His forehead met her nose in a sickening crunch, her hands leaving the handle of the knife. Carl let go of the blade, it faltered, stuck between the folds of skin, before clattering on the floor. Carl stepped over it, landing a punch to her stomach. Nine's knees buckled beneath her as the air left her lungs. Carl picked her up by her throat, pushing her small frame against the wall and squeezing.

The voices in his head were so loud. They shouted over one another. He squeezed her throat harder.

 _Kill her, there is no hope. Just you and them. Who's it gonna be?_

 _Kill her, kill her, kill her._

 _Choke the life out of her, show her how strong you are, show her how much you want to live._

 _Carl?_ Jonah's voice pushed through the noise, and in the silence that followed he heard Nine echo his name.

'Carl, please.'

Carl slowly released his grip, arms falling to his side in shock.

Nine ran for the door and Carl followed.

'Nine, please no…. don't leave.' He slammed his body into the door shutting it. 'Please, please don't leave.' He looked down at Nine, her face contorted in fear. Her nose was a little crooked, blood pouring from it and into her mouth, he could see the bruises already darkening the skin of her neck.

'Please….I had to. I had to kill Jonah. The walkers…the walkers. I tried, I really tried to save him. You have to believe me.' Nine retreated up the stairs, and Carl slid down the wall, covering his head with his good hand, sobbing. He wanted to run away, the monster he was scared him more than he'd ever had chance to admit, but now it was staring him in the face. Carl tucked his knees into his body, crying as the monster inside of him whispered its darkness into his ears.

It had been three days since then and he hadn't seen her. Neither of them had eaten in three days, and he hadn't been able to read her words in three days. It made him uncomfortable. Her honesty and optimism is what kept him grounded, without them the voices in his head just got louder and louder.

Carl turned, stopping when the lightening lit up Nine's face. She was stood in the door way, her eyes black, and the bruises around her neck had gotten darker.

'You'll have to….er…your hand will…it'll probably need stitches.' Carl looked down at his hand. The cut was deep, and he was struggling to use it, his fingers weren't responding to commands. Carl turned to her fully, stepping forward, and Nine shrunk back. Carl paused, scratching the back of his head.

'Look, I…I didn't mean to…I didn't want to kill you. I'm just not used to…' He gestured between them and Nine nodded slowly stepping back into the room.

'Did you try and save him?' Carl met Nine's gaze and nodded, tears once again filling his eye.

'He…. he told me to leave him.'

Nine started at the map 'You were heading to Hope?'

Carl nodded, 'Jonah was…. I just followed.'

He pointed to Nine written on the map. 'Is that you?'

'I don't know. You meet a lot…you meet people on the road. I guess one of them could have remembered me.' She tapped the map awkwardly.

'I was heading there too, I figured I'd come home and then walk along the coast.'

'We…we can't stay here.' Nine sighed resting her head on her hands. She really did look a sight, Carl wrung his hand in front of him guiltily.

'I don't blame you.' Carl looked up at her, she was staring over his shoulder at the storm outside, the lightening flickering across her face every now and again.

'I would have done the same. Except I'd have killed you.' Then Nine stood walking into the front room where she hadn't slept in three days. Carl watched her go, falling heavily into one of the chairs. He didn't trust her, but he didn't have to because she didn't trust him either. They were just two broken people searching for hope, and that's exactly how he and Jonah had been.

In the morning they were back to the routine, and Nine slipped out the door to go fishing, Carl knotted the handle and sat with Nine's words in front of him.

 _I scare myself._

 _I feel like a monster, but that's not what scares me. What scares me is that I'm okay with being a monster, I'm okay with it because that's what I need to be. I feel calm when I'm killing them, I feel calm when I kill people. It's like there's life and then there isn't. Nothing hurts inside of me anymore, there's no guilt._

 _I'm pretty sure that's wrong, or it was wrong._

 _The monster I am is what's kept me alive, it's just sometimes I wish I could be me again. I can't remember who I used to be. I remember what I used to do, where I used to go, but I can't remember the way I felt when I looked in the mirror, can't remember what the voice inside my head sounded like. Now it sounds like everyone that's gone, everyone I've seen, everyone that's died because of me. They whisper dark horrible things._

 _I don't think I'll be able to trust anyone again. I'm sure they'll be a monster just like me._

 _After all I'm pretty sure this is hell, and that means we're all demons._


	17. For Jonah

_I miss phones_

 _I miss picking them up and there being someone on the other end. Just to hear their voices. Sometimes I pick up phones and just pretend. I talk to the voices in my head and it's like they're answering._

 _It's getting colder. I think it might snow. I used to love the snow, used to love the kiss of snowflakes on my skin. I remember the last time it snowed, Jenna and I pressed our noses up against the window and looked up, it was like were rising into the flakes, like we were flying up into the clouds._

 _I think of Jonah more in the cold, he said he loved the cold, loved watching his breath cloud in front of him._

 _I miss him so much. It's been so long since the wolves, it almost feels like it happened to someone else, someone else in some other world. I hope he's okay. I hope he's alive. I want to press my nose up against the glass and fly up into the snowflakes, to go wherever he is. I'm so tired of being alone._

 _Sleeping is hard in the cold. I feel like there's a blizzard beneath my skin, like my heart is where the cold starts. It hurts. Sometimes it hurts so bad that I risk a fire, and then they come. They stumble through the flames, setting their legs alight. Gripping a knife in the cold is hard, but they scare me less now. Whatever killed them, can't kill me. Maybe I'll be killed by something as mundane as the weather._

 _The snow has started, its painting the ground. Maybe if it gets deep enough it will cover all of the death up. I always thought the snow made everything the same, stretched out a clean canvas for you to leave your own mark. I'd write my name, or lie down and make snow angels._

 _I did it, I lay back in the cold and wet, stretching out my arms and legs, painting an angel on the canvas. It felt like I was falling into the sky, all that white. All that white and it was still so dark, so dark and lonely._

It was coated with layer upon layer of dust, sat amongst all the other musical junk collected in the small room. He'd found it between a piano and armchair, nestled against the wall. He'd noticed the top of the speaker when he'd tried playing the piano, letting a few flat notes linger in the air, before leaving the keys well alone.

He ran his finger across the top gently, marvelling at the shiny oak path he created, at the dust particles falling off the side and floating gently onto the floor. He placed it on the cushion of the arm chair, choking as a cloud of dust plumed in the air around his head. The handle was gold and Carl reached to turn it, wincing as he caught the wound on his hand. He moved the scrap of t-shirt to one side, pausing to look at pink lily blooming in the centre. Nine had mumbled something about it being one of her sister's tops, it made him uncomfortable. He poked at the swollen wound gingerly.

Nine had stitched the wound. They'd sat across from each other, Carl's hand resting gently in Nine's as she cleaned the wound and fixed the two folds of flesh together using a fish hook and fishing line. The pain had been almost unbearable, trusting her had been even more so. It had been her idea, and Carl had felt too guilty to say no. The bruises were bright purple and blue against her skin, and Carl found it difficult to look at anything else.

 _You're a monster. You were going to kill her._

Carl shook his head, looking out the window at the ocean. They'd left her home about 3 days back and it already felt like a lifetime. It had been hard for her, he'd seen the way she lingered in every room, the way she dragged her fingers along the wall, as if trying to memorise the space right down to every split, every crack in the paintwork. She stood on the cliff edge holding a frame in her hands, staring into it. Carl had watched from the porch, he understood her reluctance to leave, he wanted to tell her that, but he didn't. His thoughts were with his own home, far away. He'd wished he'd had the same time to say goodbye to every part of his home like Nine, to relive every memory, every day, before moving on. He'd thought briefly about going back, but then realised how stupid that was, there was no home anymore, and all the memories he so desperately wanted to relive he couldn't call to mind anymore. He couldn't even remember what colour his room was.

The box, creaked and struggled against the handle as he turned it once, twice. When he let go the speaker gurgled to life, the room filling with a soft melody. It was delicate and all around him, like he could reach out and touch the notes, hold them in his hands as Jonah held his wife while he danced. He remembered the steps with ease, like they'd always been a part of his feet, as if he'd in some way always known them. He turned, arms out in front of him, holding the air; he tripped as he saw Nine in the doorway, watching him curiously.

 _I like the music_. Jonah's voice in his head made him forget himself, and he reached for Nine's hand, his fingers just about closing around hers before she pulled back as if she'd been burnt, eyes wide with fear. Carl lowered his head and stepped back, arm still held awkwardly in front of him for a while, before he let it fall, gripping onto the denim of his jeans. The music disappeared from the room as the small box fell silent.

'I…I just.' Carl gave up and stared at the moss green carpet, going grey with dust. Nine walked past him slowly, keeping a great distance between them. She gently lifted the two corners of the music box, taking it in, tracing the outline of the speaker that looked a little bit like a flower in bloom, then she turned the gold handle, once, twice, three times.

After much deliberation she stepped in front of Carl, the toes of their shoes pointing at each other, Carl looked at them for a while confused. Carl jumped as Nine grabbed his wrist, placing his wounded hand gently round her waist, she was staring at a spec of blood on his t-shirt, refusing to look up at his face. She slid her hand up to his shoulder. She looked at it, the finally looked at him. She was scared, he could tell. So was he, his hand was shaking and sweating in hers, the fingers on his wounded hand were twitching nervously. His heart hammered in his chest. The music was soft and light, but the voices in his head were loud and defiant.

 _You can't trust her, she tried to stab you_

 _You or them, Carl. You or them._

 _Dancing? You're supposed to be surviving. Leave her, she won't help you. She won't save you. Only you can save you._

'For Jonah.' With Nine's words the voices fell silent and they began to dance. Badly at first, Carl muttering apologies for stepping on her feet, but then they got it, falling into step. The beauty of the music and the fact that they were dancing made Carl smile, and when he looked down at Nine she was smiling too. Her eyes seemed lighter, like the storm had passed for a little while, and sunlight was hitting the blue, splattering it with gold. It was a breath taking sight that made Carl feel uncomfortable, so he took to looking over the top of her head.

When the music ended they stepped away from each other, the silence seeming heavy, feeling unusual, so they didn't linger in it. Nine retreated into the rest of the house, searching for food and Carl wandered outside to watch the sun slowly set over the water.

 _Humour an old man._ Carl smiled at Jonah's words. Maybe he and Nine could breathe in the same space without killing each other after all. They shared at least one thing in Jonah. If it hadn't been for him neither of them would have been alive, neither of them would be able to fight, and neither of them would have been able to dance.

That night the voices didn't say a word, and when Carl closed his eyes, he could hear Jonah humming, just like he always used to.


	18. Lights

_I miss lights._

 _Miss the lights that would wink and flicker on the horizon. Now when i look out the world is black, i dip and fall of night that blankets everything in awkward shadows. The stars are close those, like i could could just reach out and blot out one of them with the tip of my finger, I don't try though._

 _I'm sat in one of those old rocking chairs, the paints falls of in white chips in my fingers, it's circled around me like deformed snowflakes. I rocked back and forth for a while, one thud, two thud. It was strangely calming, then the sun went down and now I'm still._

 _My ankle hurts. My head is full of the pain. It's strange, I thought I knew pain, had my threshold and was comfortable there. I didn't know that real pain was loud, like a rush of white noise in my ears. But it is, it screaming through my body and I want to scream too, but I don't. I just bite down on my jacket and keep writing. Writing to each throb of my ankle, each sharp scream of pain that wanders down every nerve within me, like an army of nails._

 _She'd been silent. Like the world had just stolen the sound from within her, reached in and grabbed at it, like she reached and grabbed at me. I haven't seen one like her before, her blouse still clinging to her by one button, most of it stripped away hanging in tatters around her grey shoulders. She grew out the ground, moss and weeds, coating the lower half of her body that had been ripped away, right down to the bone. Only two of her teeth remained, and for that I'm grateful, the bite could have been worse, could have been deeper._

 _I looked into the empty sockets where her eyes had been, and slipped my knife between them, her skull caved easily and what little was left of her brain coated my fingers. She was still; her fingers curled mid claw, her mouth gaping open in silence, my blood still dripping down her chin._

' _You won't kill me.' I don't know why i said it, but I did. I got right down to her level and whispered it to her, like a secret._

 _I'm not scared now, I suppose I should be, but I'm not. I'll get ill and then just like that I'll be fine. I won't flicker out like the lights on the horizon. I'll still be standing when all the dead has rotted into the ground, when all that's left of the demons that walk the earth is bone and dust. I'll still be flickering life in the distance. I just hope there's someone out there, otherwise there's not much point in shining._

Nine had been asleep for four days. Carl had counted. He'd scratched the lines into the wood of the wall just above her head. He traced each line with his finger.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

She was grey, her skin slick with sweat, and Carl was uncomfortable. The wound had finally stopped bleeding, when he'd used his knife to burn it shut, something he'd learnt from Herschel. He couldn't remember what he called it.

 _C something._ It didn't matter, the bleeding had stopped but Nine hadn't woken up. Carl gripped his knife and knelt down by the side of the bed.

The house was huge, so many rooms, so much space; fallen fences around the perimeter spoke of a failed settlement, just like all the others. He'd left Nine outside, leant precariously against the wall, breathing heavily, a bronze plaque next to her head declaring the huge building to be a 'HEART - Home and Education for the Abandoned but Rescued Treasures' scrawled beneath the black letters ' _Home is where the heart is.'_

They wandered around in every room, all varying ages, all varying stages of decay, all walkers. Carl methodically killed them all, lowering their bodies to the floor slowly, to limit noise When they were all dead he stood amongst them, the house still in a way that houses were those days. He sighed into the emptiness trying to feel something. They were kids, some as young as Judith would have been. But nothing happened, no tears, no pain, no guilt. Just him and their bodies and the air filled with dust and his slow breaths.

He piled them all up in a room that looked like a classroom, the blackboard filled messages from the children, their messy scribbles piled on top of one another, merging into a cry for help. Once there bodies were placed on top of each other Carl went to the board wiping the black surface with his sleeve. He stared at the chalk for some time, passing it between his fingers. He hadn't written in so long, he wasn't sure he could remember how to. Muscle memory, that's what his dad had called it. His hands would remember how to kill, he would remember how to hold a gun, how to aim, how to shoot. He wondered if there was room still for holding a pen, for writing.

He held the chalk awkwardly and pushed it against the board. He didn't think much about what he was writing, but before he knew it, Nine's words were appearing in white, and he was staring into the shaky letters, tears dripping down his face.

 _There are no impossible things. Some things happen and some things don't._

He thought he could hear Judith crying, thought he could see her looking at him from the piles of tiny faces. But she wasn't there. It was just a room full of death, words and tears and Carl collapsed under the weight of it all, as if the children were alive again and pushing at his shoulders, dragging him to the floor.

 _No impossible things, no impossible things._ He repeated it over and over in his head, and looked at the board till the white words were burned on his vision, till he could still see them when he looked away. If there were no impossible things then Judith was alive, then Judith was out there somewhere and he was going to find her.

When he finally got to Nine she'd collapsed, her tiny body stretched down the steps of the house, her head bleeding from impact with the step. Carl had pulled her gently into his arms, and carried her to the best looking bedroom, covering her in all the blankets that he could find. Then he'd sat, and he'd waited. Poised over with knife in hand.

Nine shivered slightly, but didn't wake up. Carl lowered his knife, elbows pressing into the mattress as he held his head in his hands.

She'd saved him; him of all people. The very person that not long back had tried to kill her. Had for a moment wanted to kill her. Just like that, she'd stuck her arm out and taken the bite that had been meant for his neck.

They must have been attracted to the music. But one minute he was watching the sea glisten in the moonlight, it's sighs soothing him, and the next they were there. He felt on pull at his legs and he was on the floor. He kicked out, his foot connecting with the jaw of one, back peddling right into the arms of another. He held its head as it gurgled in frustration, trying to bite his flesh. The walker was an old one, old in both age and the time it had been dead, it fell on him, and Carl panicked as he felt bony fingers gripping his t-shirt. Then her arm had just been there, the walker hanging off it, blood dripping down onto Carl's chest, and Nine crying out in pain. Then she'd stabbed the walker and it had fallen in a slump at her feet.

'Are you crazy, what did you do that for?' He'd been embarrassed, he should have known better.

'You're fucking welcome. Are you crazy, you could be dead, Carl. Dead.' Carl hadn't apologised they'd just run for cover as more walkers came stumbling towards house.

He'd tried to help her, tried to stop the blood but she'd pulled her arm away.

'You….should be could get infected….I...I...I don't want that.' she'd mumled it uncomfortably but the words shocked Carl into stillness. Her words like a lump in his throat, and his heart beat just a little bit quicker at the thought of her caring about him. The thought of it still made him grit his teeth. It felt nice, felt nice and strange in his gut. She wanted him to live, and strangely that made Carl very aware of how alive he actually was, every breath feeling like a tiny gift from Nine.

He'd been stupid though, had run back into the house for their stuff. They'd sat together and watched the number of walkers grow and grow, and then he just decided they couldn't leave their stuff behind. So he'd just gone, Nine whispering his name harshly behind his back. But he ignored her. He stabbed one near the back, painting himself in the black of its blood, covering his body in it. Then he'd just walked through them.

 _You're gonna die._

 _What is wrong with you, do you want to live at all._

 _I need to get them, can't let them go._

 _Let what go, Some girls words? Are they going to save you. Are they going to save Judith?_

His dad's words were so loud in his head he was certain the walkers could hear, but they did nothing, but throw their flailing arms at the windows and walls of the house. He ignored his dad though, he walked through the house and collected their stuff, shuffling past walkers as they filtered into the house, taking up rooms, he walked past them as if underwater. Because he couldn't let her words go, they were precious and important, and regardless of what his dad would think they had already saved him, and if they could save him, then there was a chance they could save Judith too.

Carl shook his head at the memory and stood up slowly, making his way from the bed to Nine's bag, leaning against the wall at the other side of the room. He methodically emptied everything out, water, clothes, photos she'd taken from her home. Then her writing. He sat with his back against the wall, shuffling through her papers till he got to where he'd left off. He was just about to read the first word, when a voice shattered the silence and made his heart leap into his mouth.

'What the fuck are you doing?'

He was riddled with something he hadn't experienced in a while. Guilt.

He looked up and Nine was awake, awake and staring at him.

And for a moment he wished she was a walker..


	19. Bright and Complete

Nine sat up, her eyes more stormy than usual.

'I….I...I was..' Carl stuttered as he stood quickly, the pages falling from his hand, as his fingers spasmed. They fluttered to the floor, splaying across the wooden floor, at his feet.

Nine slid off the bed and onto her knees, her legs visibly shaking, Carl wasn't sure whether it was because she was weak or angry, he didn't want to know. It took a long time but she managed to crawl to the papers, picking the pages up one by one, her face contorting in anger and confusion.

'Have you been reading these?...have you...all this time?' Carl scratched the back of his neck uncomfortably, stepping away from her slightly as her eyes bored into his skull.

'Ye….Yeah….I suppose… but….'

'I can't fucking believe this, is this why you went back.' she rose to her feet, waving the pile of papers under his nose. She stepped closer than Carl was comfortable with, he stepped back and his back hit the wall. Carl looked up at the ceiling, feeling trapped.

'Did you risk your life, and mine by the way, just so you could read more of this?'

Carl was irritated. He couldn't understand the anger, but it was there, burning in the pit of his stomach. She was talking to him like he was a child, like his dad used to, like they all used to.

'YES, fuck okay. I went back so I could read your stupid fucking diary.' He spat it in her face, meeting her anger head on with his own. Nine chucked the papers at him, and her fist followed. He barely even registered the contact it made with his cheek, she was weak and fragile still. He pushed her and she stumbled back pathetically.

'In case you've forgotten i got the rest of your shit.' he picked up her photographs, chucking them across the room one by one. Nine lunged for them, and they wrestled for them for a while. The air was filled with a loud rip and Nine stumbled back, her mouth open in shock, half a family picture clutched between her fingers.

'YOU FUCKING BASTARD, I KNEW I COULDN'T TRUST YOU. I fucking knew it.' she screamed, beating his chest with fists, Carl pushed her again and she fell to the floor.

'You gonna choke me like you did last time, Carl. You going to kill me? I saw you standing over me waiting to stab me.'' She was goading him on, but he could see the fear in her eyes, could see how scared she was of him. Yes he'd been standing over her, yes he had held his knife in his hands, but that didn't mean that he was going to kill her. He wasn't sure he could.

'What is your fucking problem? I got your stuff didn't I. I won't bother next time.' He turned to the door.

'But then how would you sneak peeks at my diary, Carl?'

'Fuck off,' something about the way she spoke to him, the tone of voice, set his teeth on edge.

 _Teach her a lesson. You could kill her. You know you could kill her._

'Aw is, Carl upset because he got caught reading a girl's diary.'

Carl grabbed his bag and stomped out the room, 'I hope you fucking get infected.' he knew it was immature, but he flung it over his shoulder anyway. He wanted to hurt her, wanted to upset her the way she had upset him. He undid the knot on the door, stuffed it in his bag and walked out of HEART orphanage. Every step hitting the ground with how angry he was, how much he felt like crying and how much he really didn't want to.

'CARL, CARL. WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU GOING.' she was running towards him, her bag on her back. He could tell she was tired already, but he didn't slow his pace, he just turned back round and kept walking.

'AWAY FROM YOU.'

'FOR FUCK'S SAKE. YOU'LL DIE ON YOUR OWN.' He stopped and turned, offended that she thought he was that weak.

'I was surviving just fine without you.' Nine stopped a feet from him, she was breathing heavily, sweat beading her brow. She scoffed at his words.

'Oh yeah, because you weren't about to get your throat ripped out.'

'I had it.'

'You know what, fuck you. You would have died and you know it. You need me.'

'I don't need anyone,' Carl got right in her face, 'especially not someone who doesn't even fucking trust me.'

'You shouldn't go snooping through other people's stuff.'

'Look...I need….' Carl stopped as he heard the gurgle of walkers. They were stumbling across the lawn of HEART orphanage, there was only about six of them, but Carl knew there'd be more, they'd made too much noise.

'Now look what you've done.' Nine muttered, exasperated.

'Me? You were the one who started shouting. Carl, Carl.' He mimicked as they he stabbed the first walker in the head. He glanced at Nine as the walker she'd dispatched fell to the earth, her face was set like stone.

 _It's not worth it, Carl. You should just leave. You can survive, you've done it before._

Problem was, he wasn't sure he could, he wasn't sure that he was able to survive without Nine, and that annoyed him more than anything.

'We need to go, more will be coming.'

He knew she was right, but he was annoyed, so he mimicked her under his breath.

'I can hear you.'

He did it again.

'Oh really fucking mature.' Carl ignored her, shouldering his bag and walking away, trying to ignore the relief he felt when he heard her footsteps following his.

They didn't speak for days, and Carl refused to acknowledge her presence. He'd shaved so much that his face was red raw and irritated, and Nine laughed at him. Her laughter prolonged the silence.

He needed his routine back, not being able to read was affecting more than he thought it would have. The voices were getting louder every day, sometimes they were louder than the world around him. When that happened he curled up into a ball, gripping his head so much so, that his nails bit into his skin. He knew Nine was watching him in those moments, knew that she probably thought he was crazy. He knew he was crazy.

They found a small boat house. It was full of nets and ropes, and other various seafaring equipment that Carl had never seen before. Nine went out to get fish, and he watched her silhouette curiously against the sun. There was a small part of him that wanted to end the silence, wanted to put the argument behind them, but the larger part of him was hurt, hurt and embarrassed. So he said nothing.

'We need to talk.' Her voice was barely above a whisper, but it made him jump. There were five fish in her hands, their eyes wide and staring, mouths open in shock. Carl ran his thumb lightly over the wound on his palm, it was itching, and his fingers started to spasm.

'What about?' Carl mumbled.

Nine sighed, 'Look I'm sorry, okay?' He could tell she wasn't used to apologising, the word seemed foreign on her tongue, like she wasn't sure how to pronounce it.

Carl stayed silent.

'It's just….you know so much about me. But...I don't know you. I don't even know your full name.' He was about to point out he didn't know hers either, but thought better of it.

'I guess….I guess I'm..erm sorry too.' He scratched his head uncomfortably. 'It's just I….need...need to read..' He couldn't finish. He couldn't explain and she didn't ask. Instead she went over to their small fire and started cooking the fish. When they'd eaten, she took her pile of papers out and sat down next to him, Carl shifted away slightly, when he felt her arm press against his.

She offered the papers to him, and when he went to close his fingers around the one corner, she pulled them away slightly.

'One condition.' Carl looked up, her eyes were glittering with specks of gold, flickering with flames, he found it momentarily distracting. He coughed slightly. 'What?'

'You have to tell me something about you.'

 _When mom didn't come back, dad just sat on the porch for ages._

 _I wasn't sure what to do or say._

 _Every moment I'd expect her to come back, but she didn't. No walking through the door, no apologetic smile, no happy tears. Just emptiness._

 _That's what i thought about when i woke up to find Ben and Lucy looking after me. They are kind looking people, they had hope and happiness in their eyes, and it just made me trust them. I haven't seen that in so long. They looked happy together, in spite of everything they looked happy._

 _Lucy laughed and smiled her way through stories of them. How they'd decided they were married in a supermarket surrounded by dead people. How they thought they wouldn't make it, but they had and now they were here, they were here together and alive._

 _Does love exist anymore?_

 _Lucy thought so, I could see the way she talked about Ben, the way she shone at his name. Ben looked at Lucy the way Dad used to look at Mom, like all the light in the world was centred around that one point, and thought it was blinding there was no way you could look away. He holds Lucy like Dad held mom, like i've been holding onto life. There's a desperation to it._

 _When Lucy went missing Ben looked the same way Dad did when Mom went missing. He's somewhere else. I talk to him and I might as well be halfway across the world, because he doesn't see me. Doesn't want to see me. He wants me to be Lucy, and you know apart of me wants that for him, just to see a small part of that happiness that they had before._

 _They saved me, i guess i should be grateful._

 _But I'm not. If i hadn't been with them, then Lucy would probably still be with Ben, and I'd have probably been with my family._

 _They came though, they came and ruined everything. They were like the wolves. Strange and muttering. I could see the same dangerous sort of crazy in their eyes._

 _We ran. We ran, and for some reason when we stopped, when we were safe, we looked around and Lucy wasn't with us. She'd gone. Then Ben was screaming, and i wanted to tell him to be quiet, but I couldn't._

 _There was a part of me that hoped Lucy would come walking through the woods smiling, and there'd be at least one happy ending._

 _I guess fairy tales have been ruined now._

 _I remember Mom reading them to me. She'd lean across and kiss my forehead and tell me 'no matter how bad things get, there's always a happy ending'_

 _But we didn't get ours, and mom didn't come home. Things stayed bad._

 _We keep moving. I don't know where we are going, but Ben walks like he's going to find Lucy around the next corner. I guess I can't blame him._

 _He doesn't talk to me, and I don't talk to him._

 _I know he wishes I'd gone missing instead of Lucy, but I don't call him on it._

 _I'm going to leave when he's sleeping. i'm going to walk into the dark and embrace loneliness. He won't be sad. I know I'm holding him back._

 _I'm going to….._

Nine had stood up slowly, looking at something in the distance, her eyes wide.

'Nine?' Carl muttered, but she was somewhere else, and she couldn't hear him.

'Mom?' Her voice was shaky and uncertain. Then she was running and Carl jumped up, chasing after her, screaming her name as she screamed for her mom. There was a walker waist deep in the sea, wobbling its way through the waves.

Carl willed his feet to move faster, and as Nine's feet began splashing into the water Carl managed to grab hold of her, and yank her back. The walker was turning and Nine was pulling away from Carl, but he held her arms tight, wrapping his arms all the way around her, holding her back.

When the walker turned fully to them, Nine stopped struggling, she covered her mouth with her hand, muffling the sound of her sobbing. When the walker began to move towards them, Carl hoisted Nine over his shoulder and carried her up to the boathouse, she didn't struggle just hung limply on his shoulder, and then sat in silence. By the time he made his way back, the walker was halfway up the beach, its jaw pulled clean off, remnants of a dress still clinging to it, there was a hole in its stomach and one arm was missing. He destroyed the brain and let the body crumple at his feet. He wrapped her in netting, the only thing big enough to cover up the state of the body. Then he dug a grave, placed the walker in it and filled it back in. He made a cross out of bits of wood from the beach, and Nine carved Bright and complete across it, sticking it at the head of the grave.

Carl sat opposite Nine, the grave between them, as she read the rest of what Carl had been reading out loud.

 _I'm going to keep walking alone_.

 _Just like mom is somewhere._

 _I bet she's waiting for dad and she always will be, watching the shore with fingers crossed. I hope she knows he's out there. Maybe they'll find each other. I want them to. Just like Ben and Lucy. Yes the world is dark, yes it's broken. But they are bright, complete things, that remain that way even when they are apart._

 _Like Ben and Lucy_

 _Like Mom and Dad_

 _I guess i have their memories, and that's what keeps me bright and complete._

Something about the words was wrong. Something about them was stilted. The whole situation felt, awkward and weird. He remembered saying goodbye to his mom, remembered the way it had felt having her life in his hands, and having no power to do anything but pull the trigger. Carl was angry. Everything had been perfect for Nine, she'd said goodbye to her home, and now said goodbye to her mom in the most beautiful and bittersweet way. He'd had nothing. No sweet goodbyes, no right words, just hurt. There was no perfect goodbyes he knew that, and everything about the grave, about the sweet words felt wrong and forced.

He went to get up, but Nine said his name.

'What?' he snapped, she wasn't looking at him, she was looking at the grave, her eyes wide, but she wasn't crying, she looked strangely calm, strangely okay.

'That's….' she sighed heavily 'That's not my mom.'

'But you…' He was about to say that she'd said it was her, but she hadn't. He'd assumed.

'It looked like her, but it couldn't have been. Mom's dead'

'But..but how could you know?'

Nine brought her knees up to her chin, holding her legs with her arms. 'She didn't come home, not the way she left anyway. There was barely any of her left and dad….dad just stood there.' Her eyes were filling with tears. 'She killed him...she killed him and then she came from me. I didn't, I didn't want to die.' her eyes met Carl's almost begging him to understand. 'I bashed her head in, just kept hitting her, and hitting her till she stopped moving.'

For the first time he felt like he didn't know Nine, not really. There was darkness that even she couldn't write down. 'I wanted to pretend that...maybe….maybe it wasn't mom that came back, and that maybe she could be alive…'

They were silent for some time.

'My name is Carl Grimes, and I shot my mom in the head, I lost a shoe to a walker and I left my little sister behind. She's probably dead because of me. I have voices in my head, and I can't sleep properly without reading what you've written.'

Nine walked around the grave and sat heavily by his side

'You're the limping bandit?' Carl nodded once and froze as Nine's head fell onto his shoulder. He tried not to think about the lack of personal space, but instead stared at the cross at the top of the grave, listening to the sigh of the sea. He was certain there was no bright anymore, there was no complete, but they were together, so he supposed that was something.

Both crazy.

Both dark.

Both broken


	20. Fear

It had been raining for two days, great heavy drops that fell with force. They smacked against Carl's head as he walked, small streams of water dripping down his face and meeting at his chin. They'd huddled under Carl's blackout curtain for while, but it had brought them close, closer than Carl had been comfortable with. Nine had been pressed against his side, radiating warmth that seeped through his t-shirt. He'd panicked.

Now he was soaked through, his clothes clinging to his skin.

'We should put our bottles out, would be a good idea to top up on water.' Nine flung her bag down underneath a tree, taking out her bottle, unscrewing the lid slowly and placing it on the tarmac of the small path. Carl took out his own water bottle, it was nearly empty. He placed it next to hers. He shrugged off his jacket, wringing out the water and hanging it the low hanging branch of a small tree nearby.

There was a mist in the air, thick and hazy along the ground; the sea met the sky in grey and Carl found it impossible to tell which one was which. Carl didn't like it, he couldn't see properly, and when he strained to hear, all he could make out was the sound of rain splashing its way to a standstill.

Nine sighed loudly as she shrugged off the wet black sheet and sat on the dry earth underneath the tree. It was big; limbs stretching up to the sky, roots cracking the earth beneath Carl's feet. It looked like it had been there forever.

'I bet it's roots reach the sea.' Carl smiled slightly at Nine's words, turning to watch the waves crash against the shore. He could just about hear them.

'You….' Nine began, and Carl turned to her. She was picking at the material on her jeans uncomfortably.

'You stopped me.'

The stranger's grave was three days away and they hadn't spoken about it.

'I don't want you to die.' He said it with a shrug, feeling slightly uncomfortable, his clothes were drying, and it made his skin itch.

'Tell me something about you.' She'd taken to asking him that question, while they were walking, while they were eating, just as they were about to sleep; without warning, catching him off guard. Nine was staring at him, staring in a way that made his breath falter slightly in his lungs. Carl turned back to the sea, toeing the gnarled joint of a root that had bent up out the ground.

'Erm...well...my..my sister, she's called Judith, after one of my teachers.'

'Oh.' Nine was silent for some time. 'So this teacher? You fancy her or something?'

Carl turned quickly, his cheeks flaming. 'What?...what the hell? No.' He spluttered the words out quickly, and Nine grinned at him. A toothy grin that reached all the way to her eyes, and somehow made them shimmer. It made his stomach hurt.

She looked a bit like the way people used to. For a fleeting impossible moment, she looked pretty; and Carl thought he may as well stab himself through the head then and there, save anyone else the trouble.

 _Jesus, Carl. You could die remember. You could….._

'What does she look like?'

He thought of Judith, the last time he saw her, blue eyes looking up at him, sheriff hat plonked on her head.

 _Cawl. Cawl._

 _I'll be back, I promise._

Everything had changed since then, it may as well have been a lifetime ago. He realised he didn't know what she looked like, not anymore. Tall, short, fat, thin, whether she looked like mom or dad. Alive or dead. She was as unknown to him as any other stranger.

'I don't know.' He watched a drop of rain fall into one of the bottles, rippling the surface.

'She used to call me Cawl.'

Nine laughed, it was husky, like the world had got in like smoke and done damage. It made its way through the gaps in the rain, reaching his ears, making his heart thud quickly in his chest. He liked Nine's laugh, it was happy, light, and it was contagious. He could feel a smile growing on his face.

'Cawl. I like it. Cawl, the limping bandit.'

'And his not so trusty sidekick, Nine.' Nine pulled a face.

'I'll have you know, I'm no one's sidekick.' Carl could see her smiling.

'You know, Carl, I'm...I'm sorry I said all those things, it's just I...it's been so...well I don't know..' Carl nodded. 'It's okay. I don't think I trust you either.' Nine tipped her head slightly at Carl's words, then looked behind him.

Carl dug his hands into his pockets. It was a lie. He did trust Nine, he trusted her more than anyone. Because Nine, was Nine. The mirror of him. The dark to his dark, the broken to his broken, and in spite of all the paths, all the detours he had taken, somehow he'd found her. He trusted her the first time she saved his life, and then she'd been words in a book.

'Maybe I will one day.'

'I hope so.' Carl concentrated on the fog rolling over the hills, clinging to the ground, tendrils reaching out like fingers, clawing for purchase. It was getting harder to see. Nine stood, walking to his side.

'The fog's really com... ' Nine paused her eyes squinting in the fog, it was bad now, Carl couldn't make out the earth a few feet in front of them.

'Carl can you hear that?' Nine whispered harshly in his ear, and Carl listened. He could hear the rain, could hear the sea, and then he heard them, the moans and groans, travelling on the air. It sounded as though they were surrounded.

'Quick, up the tree.' Nine was about to protest but Carl pushed her towards the trunk, hoisting her up, she grabbed the first branch and pulled herself up onto it.

Carl swore under his breath as he tried to climb it, but his shoes slipped on the bark, and his wounded hand spasmed, making it impossible for him to grip anything.

'Stay there.' He whispered to Nine, she looked down at him, she looked worried.

Carl climbed the tree next to hers, hoisting himself up past his jacket hanging on the lowest branch, cringing as a walker stumbled past, knocking it from the branch. It fell onto its shoulder and Carl lost sight of it as the walker stumbled into the fog, disappearing from view.

Carl adjusted his footing, watching the sea of walkers flowing past the tree. He heard the sound of wood splintering, then his foot gave way. Carl grasped at thin air as he fell, his hand managing to catch hold of a small branch, he gripped harder as the wood dug into the wound on his palm, sending a bolt of pain up through his wrist. He could see Nine looking at him from the other tree, her eyes wide and scared, her hand clamped over her mouth. Carl was scared, he didn't want to fall didn't want to die. But even as he thought it he felt his hand spasm, fingers losing their grip on the branch, and he was falling. The ground was closer than he thought, and it jarred his spine, knocking all the oxygen out his body, his head smacked against the earth, his vision blurring, ears ringing.

'CARL!' Nine was screaming.

'Nine.' Carl wheezed her name, as he tried to move. But everything hurt.

'CARL, RUN. FUCKING RUN CARL.' Her screaming was attracting the attention of walkers, distracting them. Carl rolled onto his side, gasping as tiny bits of air made its way into his lungs. A walker stumbled out the fog towards him, the side of its face missing. Carl pushed himself up out of the way of it, running through the fog, his heart in his throat.

'Over here.' He could barely hear his own voice.

'OVER HERE.' He said it louder as he began to run. He had to get them away from Nine. Had to.

Carl had almost forgotten what the fear was like. He didn't feel it, he became it, every step he took was fear, every beat of his heart was fear. He was scared of the fact he couldn't see, the fact that the only weapon he had was buried in his boot, and he couldn't stop to dig it out. He was scared that he'd die and leave Nine, like everyone else had.

She'd stopped screaming, but Carl could still hear her, she said his name over and over in his head, and so Carl kept running. He had to live. He had to live and get back to her. Walkers came out of the fog in great numbers and Carl pushed them away, dodging this way and that to avoid being bitten. Blood freezing inside of him every time he felt the brush of their fingers against his skin, the cold rotting flesh reaching out to grab him. Eventually they'd stopped, but he could hear them behind him, could hear them following.

 _Can't die, won't die. Can't die, won't die._ He repeated it over and over in his head. Concentrating on the words and he ran blind through the fog.

Carl was so lost in his thoughts he didn't see the mud. He ran into it full steam and came to an abrupt standstill as his shoes stuck in the mud, and his legs refused to move. Carl pulled his one leg out stepping forward. The walkers wandered into the mud after him, getting stuck. One of them fell forward, its hand wrapped painfully around his ankle, tugging his foot out the mud and throwing him off balance. Carl fell crying in pain, and began clawing at the ground. There was nothing, nothing to hold onto, nothing to grab to kill it with.

The walker was getting closer.

The world around Carl was silent, he knew there was noise, he knew the world was loud, but he couldn't hear it. All he could hear was his heart pounding in his chest, his blood racing through his veins desperate to live, desperate to survive.

 _You have to live Carl, you have to get back to Nine._ Carl closed his eye at Jonah's voice, wishing the man was back alive, wishing that he was there. Carl heaved himself forward, gritting his teeth, the fear pushing his forward. Then, suddenly his foot was free, he looked back at the walker holding his boot in one hand the other reaching for him. Carl crawled away, making it to solid earth, and then he ran.

He ran for what seemed like an age, and when he came to a standstill he realised he was deep in the wood, the fog had cleared, the rain had stopped and every time he took a breath there was a sharp pain in his chest. He bent over, resting his hands on his knees, feeling his whole body shake.

 _Just the adrenaline. You're alive, you're alive, son._ Carl knew what it was, even before his dad and whispered in his head. The fear never left silently, it shook out of him, left him feeling empty. But he couldn't stop, couldn't give in to the emptiness, he had to find Nine, had to make sure she was alive. He turned slowly to the direction he'd come from and began limping his way back.

When darkness fell, he climbed a tree and waited for the sun to rise, he couldn't sleep. Every time he closed his eye, he thought of Nine, could hear her voice. In morning he found it, was lying in the dirt, covered in mud, covered in walker blood, but it was his and the knives were still in the pocket. Carl put on his jacket, wincing at the pain across his back and down his side. He was pretty sure he must have broken something in the fall, but he was alive, and that was all that mattered.

It was well into the afternoon before saw the sea, his legs nearly giving way in relief. He searched the shore for her.. The land was clear and she was the only living thing for miles. She was turned towards the beach, both their bags on her back. He was a few feet from her when she turned, bags falling to the floor, her face contorting in relief and a weird sort of happiness that stilled Carl. It was like coming home and suddenly realising how much everything hurt, he wanted to sink to the ground; she was alive and he could stop running, he could finally stop.

She ran to him, stopping just a bit away, looking him over, her forehead creased with worry, the W wrinkling slightly. She looked striking, Carl was too tired to mind thinking it. She just was. She had a weird kind of beauty that people had in the shit storm. It wasn't nice, wasn't perfect, just breathtakingly alive, and all that came with it.

'Are you…'

Carl gave himself a once over. Looking back up to meet Nine gaze. He shook his head slowly.

'No.' Carl froze as Nine flung herself at him, arms wrapping around his neck and squeezing. It hurt, and Carl couldn't breathe, as Nine buried her head in the crook of his neck. She was crying, he could feel the drip of tears on his skin. So he let her hug him for a bit.

'Nine, I can't breathe.' She pulled away quickly, a blush colouring her cheeks as she wiped her cheeks.

Then Nine started laughing, a deep belly laugh.

'What? Carl mumbled, confused, too tired to keep up with the emotions.

'I can't believe you lost your shoe, again.' Carl looked down at his shoe less foot and grinned, feeling the laughter bubbling inside of him. It was the best and worst feeling he'd experienced for a while. His ribs hurt, but the laughter fell out of him; it was laced with the relief he felt for being with Nine again, for being alive. For being able to laugh.

Carl stopped laughing when something bounced off his head, he looked down at the duct tape rolling to a stop at his feet.

'Tape up the rip in your jeans. It'll have to do until we find you some more.'' His jeans were destroyed, he vaguely remembered ripping them when he fell from the tree, Carl took a deep breath as he felt the fear again. It was smaller but it was there, a reminder of what life was really like. He took the tape, patching up the hole as best he could.

'You know, you're the shittest superheoro I've ever seen.' Carl ripped the tape between his teeth, then smiled up at Nine.

'It's the end of the world. Superheroes aren't what they used to be. Nothing is.'

'Very true.' Carl handed back the duct tape, and Nine put it in her bag. They began to walk.

'Carl.'

'Yeah.'

'I'm glad you're alive.'

'Me too,' Carl shrugged off her words like they meant nothing, but they meant everything. And that scared Carl; more than the walkers, more than dying, more than the loneliness.

 _it's the third time I've been bitten._

 _She'd just been there, about my height and pretty fresh. The bite is deep. It's on my side and it hurts. I'm scared. The other bite hasn't fully healed. What if it's too much? What if i become one of them?_

 _Fear isn't an emotion anymore, it's real, it's tangible. It's everywhere and in everything. I've seen it take people over, seen them become it. People do strange and incredible things when they're afraid._

 _The only saving grace is having someone to concentrate on, something to see past the fear. Jonah always said to focus the mind, to think past everything, and then things would turn out okay. So I'm doing that, I'm thinking of Jonah, I bet he's out there, walking towards me, and when I'm better I'll see him. I'm focusing on the broken roof of the house I'm sleeping in. It's pretty much a shell and the night sky is visible through the gaps. I've taken to counting the clouds as they float past._

 _I'll probably pass out soon. I hope that i wake up. it's scary to think that i could die and no one in the world would know. I can't focus past this, I'm trying but I can't. I am fear, just like everyone I've ever met, and I really don't want to die._


	21. Revenge

_I miss wearing dresses_

 _I never used to want to wear them, would complain whenever mom used to force me into them. It's strange how so many things are unclear, I can't remember the last thing i said to my dad, I can't remember what i used to look like, but i do remember the last time i wore a dress. The sun was high and distant in the sky, and the air smelt like summer. It was a red dress. Red and stopped just above my knees._

Carl remembered he used to hate the sight of blood. It would turn his stomach and he'd look away. But now blood, like everything else, just was. Cut someone open and what's inside gets out and seeps all over the floor, or drips. Carl followed a drop of Nine's blood, as it fell from her nose, and splashed in the small puddle accumulating next to her knees. He passed his knife from one hand to the other, breathing as silently as possible.

He was crouched behind a counter, a poster of a model gazed at him, her mouth slightly open, half her face missing. Carl ran his finger along the tear, shifting slightly on his feet. He glanced round the corner, gritting his teeth at the sight of Nine on her knees. He could make out the bruise already colouring her cheek.

There were three of them. Two of them, all grimy and gaunt, were holding Nine to the floor, her knees pressed into the splinters of glass. They were wolves, W's marked their foreheads, ghosts of madness haunted their eyes. The third man knelt down in front of Nine, his head bald and covered in scars,

'Well if it isn't my good friend Nine.' He gripped Nine's face hard, yanking her head up, Nine met his gaze defiantly and the man slapped her. The mall echoed with the sound, but Nine didn't cry, didn't move, just lowered her gaze back to the puddle of her own blood.

They'd been getting supplies, the rain chasing them into the mall. The crunch of Nine's boots over the shattered glass had sounded almost comforting, as he'd hobbled his way around, one sock sodden and muddy, his entire body feeling like ice. They hadn't talked much, but he noticed that Nine lingered closer, stayed near him, didn't really let him go anywhere alone. And while it made him happy it also made him uncertain. There was a lot about Nine and the way she made him feel that made him nervous.

'You owe Colt a new eye,' the bald man pointed at the man standing to the right of Nine, Carl could make out a slash running diagonally across the length of the his face. 'And you owe me, my fucking face. You should have made sure I was dead, Nine.' He kicked aside their pink bag as his voice got louder and louder.

Carl gritted his teeth. He hadn't been overly taken with the idea of having to carry around a pink bag, but when Nine had waved it under his nose he hadn't found it in him to say no. Didn't want to. Because Nine had smiled, she'd laughed and sent a look over her shoulder made his chest feel uncomfortable, like it belonged to someone else. There had been more food than he'd expected, something to do with a great number of people evacuating out to sea. Carl didn't mind either way, it was food that they hadn't had before.

'There's always beans!" He'd said it mockingly as he held it up to Nine, she grinned,

'Got to be better than canned possum. No joke, I saw that once.' Carl had laughed shaking his head. 'What don't believe me?'

'No, why would you can a possum?'

'One of life's great mysteries,' Then she'd shrugged and started humming, her voice rough and off key, but Carl had found he liked the sound, liked the way it felt like something he'd heard before but couldn't quite place. It was familiar, and in a world full of horrible things, it was nice. Nice and simple.

The bald man tipped up Nine's bag, the contents scattering across the floor, then he rummaged through it, quickly. His hands needy and desperate. Carl recoiled as he saw the man's face for the first time. His skin was waxy from a burn that had taken the whole of his face, his features melted together, his nose a sunken hole in the middle of his face. His hands were clad in leather gloves and reached for the various family photo's that Nine had kept. The man tore them up one by one, his mouth stretched awkwardly in a smile, as let the pieces flutter over Nine's head. A tear met the blood on the end of her nose and the mix fell to the floor.

Carl looked down at his new boots and the can of cola that sat beside them. It was dented and the cola had tasted funny but when he and Nine had taken their first sip, they'd grinned liked they'd never tasted anything before. Like it was the flavour of every memory they'd ever had, and with one taste everything had come rushing back. He wanted to go back to that, to when things for a moment had seemed almost simple, almost normal. He didn't think he'd remember so much, but he did; images of how life used to be flickered behind his eyes like old movies. He had been certain he could hear the sound of the mall, the way it used to be, a mess of lives making noise in the beautiful way they used to. _Stay close, Carl_ , his mom had reached out to him, her face clear and definite in front of him. Then she'd gone, and it was just him and Nine, just him, Nine and the silence.

'Oh what's this.' Carl looked over the counter at the sound of Nine struggling. The burnt man had Nine's writing and was flicking through it with a bemused smile on his face. 'Who is this, Carl. You seem to mention him a lot.' Carl's heart raced at the sound of his name, mainly because he didn't want them to find him, he was Nine's only hope, but also because Nine wrote about him. A lot. 'I don't want to depend on anyone, but I find myself depending on him.' The burnt man read it mockingly, his voice high and shaky. He bent down and slapped Nine.

'Where is this, Carl, ah. Is he here? Is he going to come in and save you?' He slapped her again and Nine screamed in his face.

'HE'S FUCKING DEAD, OKAY.' Nine was sobbing, her shoulders heaving.

The burnt man tutted, looking down at the pages. 'Leave you did he? I wouldn't blame him. You're a good fuck but that's about it.' Nine spat in his face. He wiped his face slowly, chuckling to himself. 'Well it's nice to see that Nine hasn't lost any of her fight,' he got right in Nine's face, spitting the words onto her cheek, 'I fucking love it when they struggle.'

Carl's hands were shaking with anger, he rubbed his thighs in a desperate attempt to still them. Carl's mouth opened slightly in shock as a tear dripped onto the back of his hand. He hadn't even known he was crying. He wanted to, needed to help Nine, but they couldn't know he was there, and that thought kept him in place.

'Explain to me, lads, why anyone would need a dress like this? Planning on impressing someone are we Nine?' He held up the yellow dress, holding it to his skeletal frame. The two men holding Nine laughed.

She'd looked beautiful in the dress. Carl gulped at the memory. He'd been trying on a new pair of boots when she'd come up behind him.

'What do you think?' He'd nearly dropped the boot he'd been holding. It was sunlight yellow, flowers blooming over every inch of the fabric, she'd twirled and the skirt had danced just above her knees. He'd wanted to reach out and touch the fabric, to make sure it was real, to make sure that something that bright could actually still exist.

'It's umm.' He'd mumbled down at the boot in his hand, fiddling with the dusty laces. Words were not his thing, and with Nine it got worse.

She'd seen him looking at the scar on her back, the fabric of the dress falling away, revealing her shoulder blades and prominent spine, and the top of the 9 curving its way over them.

'I sometimes forget it's there.' She'd traced the top of it with the tip of her finger, and he'd been mesmerized by the action.

'How did it….what happened?'

'I don't really remember.' She'd wandered off, arms behind her back, fingers interlocked, the dress almost luminous in the sunlight falling through the windows in the ceiling. 'I remember, Jonah was there, I remembering him shouting, I remember him crying.' Nine looked down at her bare feet, they were caked in mud, like every inch of her skin. 'I remember the man who did it. Kyle. When we found him he was hurt and Jonah…..well Jonah wanted to save him. So he did,...and then the wolves took us. And just like that he wasn't Kyle anymore...the things…' Nine wring her hands together in front of her, inspecting the backs of her hands like she'd never seen them before 'it still hurts sometimes.' Nine glanced over her shoulder at him, her eyes catching the rays and glinting with shards of gold. 'But I don't remember why, or how it happened. Funny isn't it?'

Carl hadn't been able to answer. The dress had made her look small, delicate, a fragile piece of human that he'd wanted to gather up in his arms and hold together. The thought made him blush, recoil and retreat. He'd shuffled back into the shoe store and left her alone. He blamed himself for that, because the next thing he'd heard was Nine shouting and struggling. And now they had her.

 _She's danger Carl, you can't trust her. You trust no one. Leave her, how can saving her help you? Leave her._

 _No_

Carl shook his head, passing the blade from one hand to the other, he couldn't leave Nine, not after everything.

'Right, get her on her back. For old times sake, Nine. One last fuck before I kill you.' The two men pulled her back, the younger one, nearly losing grip on Nine's arm. He had short hair that stuck out in all directions, a large jacket that hung off his body, and his two front teeth that stuck out over his bottom lip. Nine was struggling with renewed vigour, her eyes wide with panic. Nine kicked out her legs but the burnt man sat on them as he undid her pants, yanking them down and throwing them to one side. Nine kicked out again and clipped his cheek. Carl used the distraction to creep closer, hunkering down behind an empty stall.

The burnt man undid his own pants, and it was like someone had dropped a stone in Carl's stomach, the ripples waking up the darkness. An anger coursed through him that he'd never felt before. Every inch of skin, every fibre of his being shook with it. His legs propelled him forward, straight into the side of the youngest, who stumbled back and landed with a thud against the mall floor. Carl swung his leg round, it made contact with the burnt mans knee, and the knee gave way, the air filling with a loud crack, as the man screamed and fell back. The scarred man flailed at Carl, his fist making contact with side of his jaw, the pain rippled through his back teeth, one of them dislodging. Carl spat it out as he ducked, stabbing the man in the throat twice on his way back up.

His eyes widened in shock, one a deep brown, the other a milky white. Blood spurted from his neck and up Carl's arms. Carl stumbled from a kick to the back of the leg, but Carl moved quickly, turning, bringing his fist round to connect with the youngsters nose. He groaned leaning forward. Yanking him up by his hair, Carl stabbed him over and over in the ribs, continuing until the gasps of pain faded into nothing. Carl threw him to the floor, watching as his blood ran away from his body in little rivers. Carl stabbed him in the side of the head, then he turned to Nine. She was knelt over the burnt man, in her t-shirt and underwear, a slab of glass gripped in her hands, and his blood already coating her legs as she stabbed him over and over in the crotch. Carl reached forward grabbing her arm, and she recoiled, she turned her eyes filled with hatred.

'Don't fucking stop me..he...he...he deserves this...He ruined my fucking life.' Her voice shook.

'Your hand.' He mumbled. Nine glanced down shocked, as if the hands were not her own. Carl slowly took the piece of glass from her, letting it clatter to the floor. He then took some sunlight yellow fabric from the pieces littered over the floor. Wrapping it tightly around her hand. He could feel her gaze on him, but he concentrated on her hands. The man on the floor was mumbling, voice slurring from blood loss.

'Please...please help me.' Carl took the knife from his belt, placing it in Nine's hands, finally meeting her gaze.

'Take as long as you need.'

The burnt man was trying crawling away, legs slipping helplessly on the floor. Nine followed him and unleashed all the hate, all the pain, cutting into him and pouring in the darkness. Carl waited, when the one eyed man became a walker he killed it and waited some more. There were more walkers, but Carl dealt with them, leaving Nine to purge herself of everything.

Eventually Nine stood, soaked in blood, dropping the knife on the floor. Carl concentrated on the fabric wrapped round Nine's hand. It was red now. Nothing of the yellow it had been before, nothing of the beauty it had before. Nine wiped her nose with the back of hand, fingers splayed awkwardly as the blood dried.

'A friend of mine says that doesn't help, revenge i mean.' Nine knelt, staring into the mess of the man, the white of his skull exposed from Nine cutting away pieces of his face.

'Your friend's wrong. It feels….amazing. He took everything, now….now he has nothing.' Carl knew what she meant. No one really had much anymore, even the air in his lungs sometimes felt borrowed. Time was just a countdown to death, clothes just to keep out the chill, what little there was to own was precious.

They left the bodies where they lay, gathering food in their pink bag, collecting all the pieces of photograph confetti. Carl took a dress before they left, stuffing it into the bottom of his bag after some deliberation. I t was blue, a greeny blue, like the colour of Nine's eyes.

 _This is pointless._

He knew it was, but he took it anyway because he thought Nine might like it.

 _It's a stupid things to want to wear dresses though, impractical, and pointless. I doubt they'd suit my anyway. There is no way to cover up the scars, the darkness inside of me lives on the outside now too, it marks my skin in the way darkness always does. I guess I'd be the first monster in a dress. No they wouldn't suit me anymore, but apart of me wishes they would._


	22. Close to Starlight

Adrenaline. It was like a dose of life just before death, the best kind of painkiller. His heart had pumped with erratic shots, his system had been full of the stuff when he'd rushed to save Nine, but when it wore off, retreated back into the shadows, it left him in pieces. The pain nearly floored him.

Carl gritted his teeth as another jolt of pain stabbed its way up his side. It burnt its way all along his chest, making it hard to breathe. They'd had to stop, it was inevitable, every couple of steps had him bent over in agony, and Nine asking if he was okay.

'Do i fucking look okay?' He hadn't meant to snap, but he'd been hurting and it was a stupid question. Nine had just rolled her eyes and carried on walking, her annoyance stamped with every foot fall. It made Carl want to smile, but another burst of pain brought him to his senses.

He'd suggested going back, holding out in the mall for a while, stopping at least till he'd healed enough to walk. The suggestion was met with an adamant no.

'Nine, come on. I can barely fucking move.' He'd wheezed at her, leant against the remains of a wall, the mall just behind them, glass roof shimmering in the distance.

'I'm not going back there…' she shook her head, inspecting the state of her shoes and biting her bottom lip nervously.

'We could move the bodies.'

'I'M NOT GOING BACK THERE.' She'd spat at him, then wandered off towards the beach. Carl could understand, there was a freedom to revenge, a weight that lifted with stealing something of theirs away. Pouring all the hate into their bones and watching it tear them apart.

It wasn't pretty, wasn't nice. And when all the hate had gone there was nothing. Nothing but the reality of being wrong, being a monster. All bloodied and messed up. Living with the hurt was hard, living with the emptiness was worse. He could see why Nine wouldn't want that, but he wished her stubbornness had landed them somewhere with a roof and four walls. Instead they had to make do back to back on a clear stretch of road, farm land and open spaces falling into the distance around them.

Nine's head fell back onto his shoulder, wisps of hair tickling the side of his face.

'Wow.' It was more like a sigh, an exhalation of wonder that had her scrabbling to lie down. Carl turned slightly, watching as she shuffled about on the road, trying to get comfy. She looked up, and her eyes filled with the night sky, her fringe falling off the W on her forehead. Carl inspected it, one side of it longer than the other, reaching into her hairline. Carl wanted to trace it, run the tip of his finger along it, just like she'd traced the scar on her back. He shook his head turning away.

 _You're distracted._

 _I know_. Carl glanced around. There was no one. No one and nothing. Just him and Nine in the middle of the road.

 _You should leave her behind._

Carl ignored the voices, mirroring Nine's actions and lying down. Their heads side by side, legs stretching out in opposite directions. Carl's eye widened in wonder, Nine's wow making sense. The sky was close, like it was sandwiched on top of them, their breath the only thing holding it away. There were so many stars, like they went on for eternity, lying close together as tiny clouds danced across them.

''You know, I don't really know anything about stars.' Nine muttered, her voice was low, low and close. Delicate, like they were sharing a secret.

'I do.'

'Yeah?'

'Yeah, they're fireflies. Fireflies that got caught up on that big, bluish, black thing.' Carl grinned to himself as he felt Nine shaking with laughter, her shoulders brushing the top of his head as she chuckled.

'I can't believe you remember that.'

'Lion King, It's a classic.' He whispered back with a gentle shrug of his shoulders.

Most of what he remembered was stupid, was pointless. But they stuck in his brain with the clarity of a new memory. Silly things, like teachers names, the feel and colour of his favourite shirt, the taste of chocolate. Memories like that remained clear, definite, small pointless certainties. But faces, voices, moments shared with those left behind, faded and blurred. The more he tried to hold onto them, the quicker they left. Even the voices in his head were all starting to sound the same.

Carl stretched out his one arm, jolting slightly as his fingers brushed against Nine's. Panicking he jerked his hand away, but Nine caught it in the darkness, tugging it back onto the road beneath them, dropping her fingers in the gaps between his, palms facing the stars. Carl's little finger began to twitch as the wound on his hand throbbed. His heart hammered in his chest, but Nine's fingers were cool and unmoving.

'Thanks….you know...for what you did.' Her voice wavered slightly with uncertainty and Carl gulped. 'You probably think I'm crazy.'

He didn't think, he knew. But he was crazy too. Life was crazy. Every second of every day was straight jacket worthy.

'Everyone's crazy.' Nine's husky laugh made him smile.

'Carl?'

'Yeah.'

'What would you do, you know if...if your family were alive?' Carl thought about it. About Judith, about his dad and michonne. They'd had a life, something worth having together, if it hadn't been for him they'd still be there. Still be together.

'I'd go find them.' Nine's fingers gripped his a little tighter.

'Don't...don't you think they could..you know be at hope. Lots of people have been heading that way.' Carl laughed slightly, he could feel Nine looking at him, but he concentrated on a small cloud making its way across the constellations. His dad had given up on people, on going back to the way things used to be. With everything that had happened, with everything that they had lost, he knew he'd never find his family there.

'No.' He'd known it for a long time, known it the first time Jonah had suggested they could be there. He had no explanation for why he'd stayed with Jonah, why he'd stayed with Nine. He thought maybe it was because they were alive and his family were dead, because with them he felt real, tangible, close to something more than what he'd been pretending to be. Carl let his thumb brush lazily against the tips of Nine's fingers.

'Do you...do you..' He wanted to ask if she ever felt distant, far away from it all, but so planted by gravity, or whatever sad reality kept his feet on the ground, but he realised how stupid he sounded, how lost. He didn't want to be lost, not with Nine. He had to be strong.

'What?'

'Doesn't matter.'

'Carl I…' He turned to her, shocked when his eye met hers. Their worlds close, brushing up against one another. It scared him. He sat up quickly, snatching his hand away and drawing it close to his chest. He groaned as his side complained at the sudden movement.

'You okay?' Carl looked at the road stretching before him, and nodded, steadying his breathing.

'We should get moving, we need to find somewhere to sleep.' Nine nodded, standing up and watching him struggle to his feet. He refused to meet her gaze, embarrassed by the blush burning on his cheeks, by how close they had been, and how much he'd actually liked it.

 _You're getting weak, you'll die, caring kills people, Carl. It will kill you._

They walked in silence for an age, till the sky lightened and the stars disappeared into the blue. They found a log cabin that housed a small boat called 'Close to starlight'.

'I like the name.' Nine said as she made herself comfy inside it, using her jacket as a pillow. Carl let her sleep, taking out her writing finding where he'd left off. The burnt man had jumbled them up when he'd thrown them on the floor, some of the pages splattered with his blood. Carl settled his back against the wall, legs crossed in front of him.

 _There are many people who have saved my life, and i suppose in some way or another i'll always remember them. But the one that means the most, the one i'm certain i'll never forget; right down to her blonde hair and oversized sheriff's hat; is judith._

The pages dropped out of Carl's hand, scattering across his legs and onto the floor. He looked up and Nine was awake, looking at him wide eyed.

'Ju…Ju...My Judith?' His eye was filling with tears, and he didn't know why.

Nine bit her bottom lip nervously, looking down at her lap, then back up at him.

'Yes.'


	23. Can't Let Go

Carl stared at the palms of his hands, as if they held an answer, searching the length of the wound Nine had given him; either end of it scarred, the rest still scabbed, the centre weeping. His hands began to shake.

Nine had climbed out of the boat and stood in front of him, hands clasped nervously in front of her. He stared at her worn black boots, laces undone and hanging. They didn't have any answers either. His vision blurred as more tears welled in his eye, dropping down onto his cheek as he tried to blink them away.

'I was going to tell you...i wanted to...it's just...you...you would have left...and I….I didn't want you to.' Carl cast a glance up at her face, then instantly looked away.

'My dad.' Carl rubbed his nose as the letters lodged in his throat, he concentrated on 'Close to Starlight' written in blue paint on the white boat.

'He's alive...at least he was, when i was with them.'

'Them?' Nine shifted uncomfortably, hands unclasping and digging into her back pockets, turning the toe of her boots into the wooden floor. Carl stared at the splinters waiting, his heart beating out a rapid rhythm in his chest.

'Michonne, Daryl..um Maggie...all of them..Carol. They were looking for you.' Carl laughed bitterly at how easily she said their names. Dropping them on the floor between them, like it was natural. Like it didn't hurt.

His family, his friends. He jumped to his feet and Nine stepped away, hands leaving her back pockets and falling by her side, eyes wide and watching him closely. He grabbed his bag, slotting one knife into his belt, the other in his jacket pocket, which he shouldered on. The small stuffed dog that he'd balanced on the front of the boat went in the bag, and the black out curtains followed, as he ripped them from the window, squinting as sunlight flooded the room. He went to the door, undoing the rope, yanking it with anger, with frustration; the voice in his head something akin to white noise. Words jumbling together.

 _Liar. Can't trust._

 _Kill her._

 _Alive._

 _Survived._

 _Liar._

'Carl, what are you doing?' His hand hovered above the handle; it was silver. Sunlight stretched across its surface, and the handle shimmered it into his eyes.

'What's it look like, I'm going to find them.' He said it with a certainty that surprised him. For the first time he was sure, finally he knew they were out there, somewhere.

Nine stepped forward. 'Carl...you can't, you…'

'And why the fuck not?" He turned towards her, stepping forward, 'You...you kept this from me...you knew…' his voice broke and he turned away, 'You knew how much they meant to me...how much Judith...and you didn't...you kept it to yourself, lied to my face.' Carl shouted the last part, pointing his finger accusingly at Nine, stepping into her space as she stepped back. His finger shook in the air.

'I wanted to, and i tried. God, Carl, I tried. I tried so many times...but...but i knew you'd do this..react like this.'

'How else am i supposed to react? Huh? They're my fucking family...and i thought they were dead! Dead….because of me. You let me think that...you fucking…' Carl covered his mouth, trying to stop the hurt from spilling out. Nine reached out , her fingers brushing his arm and he jerked away, ignoring the pain in his side. 'Don't fucking touch me.' He walked back to the door.

'Carl, please. You don't even know where they are.' Carl gripped the rope tight in his hand, feeling it bite into his palm. He stomped across the room and began gathering the pages from off the floor.

'Carl?...Carl, what are you doing?' He ignored her, lifting her bag from out the boat and crumpling the pages inside, throwing her jacket across the room at her.

'Carl?' Nine stared at the jacket in her hands, confused, then back up at him.

'You're coming with me.'

'What?' Carl grabbed her wrist painfully, getting in her face.

'I said, you're coming with me.'

'What the fuck?' Nine tugged her hand away and Carl tightened his grip.

'I can't go, I have...I have to go to Hope. Carl, please, I have to get there.' Every word was punctuated by her fighting to get free. Fingernails dug into his skin and he gritted his teeth.

'Funny, I don't remember asking you.'

There was a pause, a moment, a stillness, disrupted only by their breath punching the air. Carl searched Nine's eyes, looking into her and Nine looked into Carl. He thought about the stretch of road they'd been on just hours before; sky above them, joined at the fingertips, connected and together in a world fallen apart. Then Nine put her fist through the memory, shattering it like glass. The blow sent Carl's head reeling, pain erupting along his jaw. The broken pieces of memory crunched beneath his boot as he stepped forward, pushing his fist into her stomach. Nine gasped, doubling over, turning slowly to stagger away from him.

Carl moved quickly, grabbing her from behind, clamping his arms around her skeletal waist, heaving her off the floor. She kicked her legs, and Carl struggled to stay upright.

'I can't go...I can't.' She screamed it, lungs heaving with the words as her elbow ploughed into his side, just below his broken ribs. Carl's whole body spasmed with the pain and he dropped her. He managed to lift his arm, grabbing her leg as she aimed a kick at his head. Gritting his teeth he heaved himself into her, throwing her off balance and into the wall, arm across her throat. Nine cried out as the wood bit into her back, flailing her arms, trying to grab his shoulders and push him back. Carl caught her wrists, pinning them either side of her head.

'Give up.' He growled it in her face.

'Fuck you.' Nine struggled and Carl pushed harder, pinning her legs with his own.

'Give up, Nine. We've done this before, you can't win, you're too weak.' Nine stopped struggling, hate colouring her eyes a stormy grey. Then she bit down on his arm, hard. Carl cried out letting go, Nine let him stagger back, planting her knee between his legs, smiling slightly as he crumpled to the floor.

'You fucking bitch.' Carl's hand wrapped round her ankle as she went to run, heaving her off her feet. She hit the floor, breath pushed out of her lungs. Carl climbed on top of her, pinning her beneath him as she struggled for breath.

'You bit me? You actually fucking bit me? Infected bitch.'

'Go...to...hell.' Nine wheezed.

'You're just like them, a fucking walker.'

'And you're a coward.' Carl gripped her shoulders and slammed her head against the floor. Nine's head lolled, eyes closing as she fell unconscious. He climbed off her, groaning as his whole body ached, sharp pains shot up his side, forcing him to sit for a while. He grabbed the rope and bound her wrists together, propping her up against the wall.

He paused, catching his breath. Everything hurt, but his heart hurt more, aching in his chest.

They were alive, actually alive. The possibility of it shook him to his core. He slid down the wall next to Nine. she was still, her mouth slightly open. He traced the w on her forehead gently, like he'd wanted to before, blushing at his actions, in spite of the hurt, in spite of the betrayal.

He was surprised how quickly the anger left him, leaving the hurt.

'Why didn't you just tell me.' He looked into her face hoping for answer, none came. He stood, wiping the tears from his cheeks, turning to the window.

'Shit.'

They were stumbling along the farmland towards the cabin, herded by the noise their fight had created. He glanced back at Nine, still out cold. He headed to the door, taking his knife from his belt. There were about six of them, all old looking, decayed to skeletons. They were dotted across the landscape, awkward limbed and stumbling. He stabbed them in the head one by one, casting worried glances along the horizon as more came. More and more from every direction, closing in on them.

Carl felt a weight of terror in his gut as he hurried back inside. He shook Nine.

'Nine, shit come on, wake up, wake up.' Her head lulled and he cupped her cheeks slapping them.

'Nine? Nine?' She didn't stir.

'Shit. Shit. Shit.' Carl glanced around hoping for a miracle, anything.

 _Just leave her, run for it. You can make it._

Carl stared down at Nine. He could leave her. She'd lied to him, kept his family from him.

 _Let them tear her to shreds._

Carl's hands curled into fists. He wanted to hurt her, like she'd hurt him, wanted to show her how much damage she'd done, but he didn't want her to die. When he was with her, he wanted; wanted life, wanted small, insignificant gestures like holding hands.

 _You're weak._

He knew he was, that's why he dug the matches out the bottom of his bag, starting a small fire in the bottom of the boat, painting both of their skin with walker blood, while it caught. Then the boat was alight, paint melting, 'close to starlight' bubbling with the heat, room filling with smoke, and Carl hoisted Nine over his shoulder, her head pillowed by the bags on his back.

They were surrounded, Carl almost cried at how hopeless their situation seemed. The walkers had moved much quicker than he'd expected, and they were closing in. trapping them. He thought of his family, he'd never see them again. He'd never find Judith, never find them and they were alive.

Then the glass window broke, shattering in pieces that showered the walkers heads as they heaved towards the noise. A path cleared and Carl ran through it, pushing walkers out the way. He found himself clearing of the horde, hurling Nine into an overgrown field and ducking down after her, watching the wind blow thick clouds of black smoke into the path of the walkers. None of them had followed.

He heaved a sigh, falling back onto the earth beside Nine. His side throbbed.

Nine groaned, her eyes opening slowly, hands lifting together to try and touch her head, she stared at her bound hands confused.

'What the..'

'Shh.'

'Where are we?' Nine whispered as she looked around, then back down at her hands, eyes widening in realisation.

'You knocked me out?!' It was a question and an accusation, Carl winced at how loud it sounded. He looked over the top of the weeds, checking the walkers, they were still heading towards the fire.

'Yes, now shut up.'

'What the hell did you do?' Nine had managed to heave herself onto her knees.

'I set the cabin on fire.'

'You what?' Nine turned to him shocked, he ignored her. 'Are you crazy? We could have used that boat.'

'Oh yes? Please explain to me how setting sail over a sea of walkers was going to help.' He snapped at her.

'Look will you just fucking untie me?' Nine thrust her wrist towards Carl.

'No.' he quickly grabbed her as Nine tried to run.

'Let me go.' Carl pinned her again.

'No, I've told you, you're coming with me.' Nine's mouth opened and closed for a while, a blush colouring her cheeks as her nose brushed lightly against his. Carl jerked back, blushing too, keeping a tight grip on the rope binding her wrists.

Carl shook his head, checking on the walkers before hoisting her to her feet, pulling the bags onto his shoulders one handed. He started walking, tugging her along. He could tell she hadn't given in, there was a storm coming, he could see it in her eyes.

 _Why didn't you leave her? Why didn't you let her die?_

Carl cast a glance back at Nine; her mouth set in a pout, her legs stumbling with defiance. He felt something strange in the pit of his stomach, like a realisation. It was uncomfortable, like being winded. His eye widened with it, legs stopped working.

 _Because...I can't_

 _Judith has only ever known this world, known this life. But there's something different, something innocent and light. The darkness hasn't got in her yet. The others though, they still stare at me with the same mistrust, the same hate as when i first met them. Freshly bitten and alone. The illness had gone i was just waiting for the bite to heal._

 _Rick would have killed me. Crossbow guy and grey haired lady wanted him to. They didn't see me._

 _Didn't know me._

 _Our shared moments, those small acts of kindness that kept me breathing didn't matter. I thought things like that had a voice of their own, that they would shout across the spaces between us and save my life._

 _But nothing spoke for me._

 _Only Judith._

 _She says they're looking for her brother. He's out there somewhere._

 _He's lucky to have people like this, a family still searching, still hoping._

 _Carl Grimes._

 _I wonder what you're like._

 _I hope someday i'll find that. Someone so connected, so joined to me that my name is my existence, my memory is the breath in their lungs and no matter what they can't let me go. Even if that means wearing an oversized hat and searching the world for me._


	24. Torn Apart

Nine made a lousy prisoner, constantly fighting, constantly trying to get away. They'd covered the same ground, over and over, as Nine managed to break free, running off in all directions, before Carl had managed to catch hold of her.

It was taking its toll though. His chest ached constantly, making it almost impossible to breathe. Every step had him hunching over, till he shoulders were slumped with the pain. He was tired, so tired. His eyes stung with it. Nights spent making sure Nine didn;t leave, it left him hollow. Limbs felt like lead and gripping the ropes around Nine's wrists was getting harder and harder.

Carl sighed, yanking Nine along as he collapsed against the trunk of a tree. Dense forest surrounded them, the sun had set just moments before and the world was quiet, holding its breath in the time between night and day. Carl let his head fall against the rough bark, watching the clouds float over him through the gaps between the leaves. They were dark and grey. The air around him humid and close.

'There's a storm coming.' He wasn't sure whether he said it out loud. He was so tired, the words muttered into nothingness.

Carl didn't even realise he'd fallen asleep till his eyes snapped open. A drop of rain had landed on the end of his nose, followed by a rumble of thunder. He blinked once, twice, three times, jumping to his feet when he noticed Nine's back retreating into the thickness of the forest.

He heaved himself forward following her through the trees.

'Nine.' His voice was weak, swallowed by the sound of the rain now falling faster and heavier, knocking against his skull and soaking through his jacket. Carl stumbled as he tripped over a root, gritting his teeth as his ankle spasmed. He kept running.

He was getting closer, pushing himself forward he fell into her, knocking Nine to the floor. She struggled, digging her elbows into the earth, pushing herself along the ground.

'Nine, for fucks sake, stop…' He choked onto his words as something slammed into the side of him, sending him careering into the trunk of a tree. Carl cried out as something cracked inside of him. He gasped for a breath, pain compressing his chest. He coughed, the tang of blood filling his mouth. He tried gripping the earth for purchase, hands filling with dirt and leaves. He was heaved onto his back, Carl coughed again blinking past the rain into the eyes of his attacker.

They were black. Carl choked on more blood as the huge man dressed like soldier rammed his head into the earth.

'Carl.' Nine was screaming, she sounded so far away. So distant. Blackness closed in around his vision and Carl gave into it, because he was tired, so tired.

'...doing fine, just needs plenty of rest.' The voice was unfamiliar and close, somewhere above his head. Carl shifted, and instantly wished he hadn't, every cell in his body exploding in pain.

'Ah he's finally awake.'

'Carl?' Carl's body relaxed slightly at Nine's voice. She was alive, she was safe.

'Where am i.' He grimaced as he tried to open his eye, his voice sounded like someone had been out his throat with a razor.

'You're safe.' He felt something grip his fingers and squeeze, and Carl tried to gently grip back, his fingers twitched but did little else. He groaned as a new wave of hurt washed over him.

'You're lucky to be alive, my husband isn't known for being gently, trust me, I know.' The stranger giggled and Carl felt the press of something cold and wet against his lips. He gulped the water down quickly, gasping for air and drinking some more.

'I'll go get some more.' Carl heard the stranger get up, and leave the room.

He tried to open his eye again, wincing at the small slant of light that pierced the darkness, making his head hurt. He closed it again. He counted; one, two, three; quickly he snapped it open, blinking through the pain, till everything became clearer and he could see Nine gazing at him. Her hands closed around his, worry set deep on her forehead. She looked different, but Carl couldn't work out why.

'What happened?' His memories were hazy, blurs of colour, flashes of noise jumbled together inside his head. He remembered everything hurt, but beyond that, he was lost.

'Ben, he thought...he thought you were trying to hurt me, so..so he attacked.' Carl glanced down at his body, angry looking bruises coloured his chest, a bandage wrapped all the way round his middle. Carl fingered it gingerly.

'He...he erm stabbed you. Lucy says you would have died if we hadn't already been so close.'

'Close?'

'Oh to the bunker.' Nine gestured around them. 'It's underground. Ben...he got it up and running, it's got electricity, showers.' Nine tucked at her hair self-consciously and Carl's eyes widened as he realised the difference. She was clean. No mud, no grime, no walker blood. Just pale skin, shimmering scars glimmering in the yellow light of the bulb above her head, hair lighter and wispy. Carl gulped turning away glancing around the room.

It was small and grey, equipped with a bed, a table and a chair. The table was littered with his belongings. He tried to sit up and screamed in pain.

'Woah, wouldn't do that if i was you.' The stranger, a short, brown haired woman with dreadlocks came in, holding a metal cup. She placed it down gently, pushing Carl back onto the bed. He didn't have the energy to fight.

'You have several broken bones, and right now they are exactly where they need to be, so moving is a big no no, unless,' the stranger shrugged and sat down with sigh,' you know you want to escape and ruin your chances of ever being able to walk again. It's up to you.'

Carl felt his eye filling with tears. He was helpless, hopeless. A worthless mess. Every moment spent in the bed was one moment he wasn't looking for his family. He could feel them getting further and further away.

'I need to find my family.' He grit his teeth.

'And you will, when you're better.' Dreadlock lady clucked her tongue and handed Carl the water.

'Carl?' Nine went to take his hand again, but he snatched it away, ignoring her hurt glance, taking a sip of water.

'This is your fault. You just kept fucking running.' He stared at his own reflection in the water. The surface rippled as his breath danced across it. He looked beaten, broken. His face drawn and pale, bruises blooming from his neck all the way up to his hair.

'Carl, I'm sorry.'

'I don't want to hear it.'

'Carl…'

'Just fuck off, okay?' Nine faltered for a moment, hurt and dejected, but Carl again ignored her, bringing the cup once again shaking to his lips. Nine stormed out the room, slamming the black wooden door behind her.

'You know, you should be easier on her.'

'And what the fuck would you know. This, all this is her fault.' Carl spat the words as he gestured to his body, wincing as more pain raced through him. He hated how weak he sounded, how weak he was.

'Yes all her fault. It's her fault your injured and lying in a bed. Its her fault you're alive too, by the way. Remember that.' Carl glanced at her, eye wide as she left the room. He let out a shuddering breath when the door clicked shut.

 _I told you, i told you she was nothing but trouble. Now look at you. You can't move, can't leave. Can't find me or Judith. You're broken. What can you do if you're broken._

 _The group are like shards of glass, angry looking and dangerous, but when something bright catches them, they glimmer. Shimmering a rainbow of so many different things. They care, honestly care. It's something I haven't known since Jonah, and that feels like a lifetime._

 _They know about lonely, the hurt, and the dark. They know broken. They live it._

 _Judith says that broken things are the only things worth having, because they can be put back together._

 _I laughed at her. I have to. She makes it sound so simple, so easy. As if all broken things can just be fixed._

 _I know they can't, but when I'm with Judith, I really want to believe that they can._

 _Because if all broken things can be fixed, then maybe I can._


	25. Put Back Together

Carl stared at the wooden hatch, the ladder was metal and green, flecks of paint falling off onto the concrete floor. Carl flicked off a chip of paint, watching as it fluttered down. He didn't know what he was waiting for.

Healing had taken months, and in that time Nine hadn't spoken to him once. He'd caught flashes of her across the doorway, heard her mumbling in the next room, but she hadn't visited him. When he'd finally been able to hobble around, with the aid of Lucy, and a wooden stick that Ben had found him in the woods, she'd refused to meet his gaze. He knew he deserved it, knew he'd been cruel to her.

The only visitor he'd had was, Lucy; small and crazy, dreadlocks down to her waist. She'd bustle into the room at regular intervals throughout the day, arms full of bandages and pain killers, smile fit for blinding. It had taken Carl a long time to trust her, but every time he fought, she'd just laughed and called Ben to hold him down.

Ben was a huge man. He filled every room in the bunker with his bulk. He always wore his uniform, boots polished to a mirror shine, hair shaved and a hard line of hate across his forehead. Ben's eyes were black, as though light refused to affect them.

 ** _'He thinks he's a soldier. Ben, I mean.' Carl had grimaced to Lucy when she'd helped him hobble across the room._**

 ** _Lucy had smiled, pulling at Carl's arm and hoisting him straighter. 'We all have lies we tell ourselves; I'm a soldier, I'm a nurse, things are going to return to normal,' she helped Carl lower himself into a metal chair, 'I don't care about Nine.' Carl blushed, turning to the table. Pieces of Nine's photographs were littered across it, some had been successfully reunited, most though still sat on the table alone. He was putting the photographs back together as an apology. It wasn't good, but it was all he had._**

 ** _'I don't know what you're talking about.' Lucy knew things, just by looking. It unnerved him._**

 ** _'Oh sure you don't,' Carl picked up a piece of photograph. It was Nine, younger, as she used to be, a different name, happiness achievable and plastered across her face._**

 ** _'No, I don't.' He mumbled it to the picture, fingering the rough edge._**

 ** _'Well, just promise me one thing.' Carl hunched his shoulders further into the metal table, trying to ignore her._**

 ** _'I don't make promises anymore.'_**

 ** _Lucy sighed, grabbing Carl's face and turning it toward her. Her longs nails scraped the skin of his cheeks, he didn't like the feeling. Lucy was fiery and not someone he wanted to annoy, not with Ben looking after her. But she was nosy, muscling into business that wasn't hers, and that made him angry, made him want to run. Only problem was, it wasn't an option. Not while he struggled walking. She was like a whirlwind of badly aimed kindness, clueless of the damage inflicted._**

 ** _'You'll make this promise, Carl Grimes. I know you have to go, but...but just be sure before you do. There's no guarantee we'll be here much longer, and if you come back…'_**

 ** _'I won't okay. I have to go, now leave me alone.'_**

Carl shifted on his feet, deciding to double check his bag again, just to make sure. He'd wanted to ignore Lucy's words and he'd done a bad job of pretending. He wasn't sure, as he unpacked his life onto the floor in front of him, he knew there was nothing certain about his decision. The thought of leaving Nine, not seeing her again made him pause and falter.

They wouldn't be in the bunker much longer, he knew that. He'd been hunting with Ben. The man was cold, and distant , more ice than flesh and blood; but he was an excellent hunter. Carl had learnt a lot, including the fact that food was running out.

His bag was packed, again. He stared at it. He knew it would be hard on his own. He'd done it before, but now, now the fear got in him every time he thought about it, woke up inside of him and made his stomach hurt. The rungs of the ladder seemed colder, he liked the sound they made beneath his shoes. It echoed around his head.

 ** _'They're getting all the wildlife, big, small. Not even eating them half the time.' It was one of the longest sentences he'd ever heart out of Ben. Carl stared at his back like it was some kind of trick. Hunting, Carl had found, was nothing like what his father had taught him; aim, shoot and hope didn't work anymore. Animals were harder to come by. This fact meant that Carl was struck by a certain amount of pride when he'd managed to land a full grown deer._**

 ** _The first few attempts had sent him stuttering into the past; his dad was there, the deer was there, and he was reaching out, both eyes open and wide in wonder. Then the pain, the sound of a gunshot and the pain. Lucy called it post something disorder, she pushed the letters together as Carl shook through every scary thing that had ever happened to him._**

 ** _'It's like waking up from a nightmare, when we're safe we have time to remember.' He went over and over through the fear, through the sadness, jolting awake, covered in sweat, names dying on his lips in the darkness. Once he woke to find Nine silhouetted in the doorway, he couldn't see her face, but he knew it was her. One hand gripping the door frame, foot presented in front of her as if she was going to close the distance, end the silence. But she didn't._**

 ** _'Nine?" At the sound of her name, she'd left._**

Carl lifted the hatch. It was cold, he could see his breath fogging the air. The sky was clear and starry and Carl gritted his teeth through the memory of him and Nine, backs against the road. He gripped his hand as it twitched.

 ** _'It's the tendons. They've been cut.I doubt you'll get full use out of that hand again.'' Lucy shook her head as she twisted Carl's hand this way and that, as Carl tried desperately to bend his fingers properly._**

 ** _'Did a real number on you, didn't they?'_**

 ** _Carl scoffed, letting his hand fall onto his leg._**

 ** _'What?' Lucy sat back on his bed, an amused smile on her face._**

 ** _'It was Nine, we had a...disagreement.'_**

 ** _Lucy laughed. It was loud and Ben shoved his head round the door, eyebrow raised. She waved him off._**

 ** _'And the eye?' Lucy pointed at her own adjacent eye, tapping her cheek just below it. Carl consciously touched his own face, feeling the ridges of scar. He forgot about it most of the time, people asked, and when they didn't he just assumed it freaked them out._**

 ** _'Oh...that was….meant for someone else.'_**

 ** _'Who?' Carl didn't like thinking about it. Didn't like going back to the moment. His dreams sent him there almost every night, and that was enough for him._**

 ** _'Doesn't matter.' Lucy didn't push, but he could tell she wanted to ask more, needed to._**

Carl stared down the hatch and jumped at the black eyes staring up at him. Ben was silent, every step, every breath, like his existence did nothing but whisper into the world. Carl shuffled back, rising to his feet, as Ben climbed out the hatch and stood over him.

'You're leaving.' It was a statement, so Carl didn't answer.

Ben passed him a small trap, seeming uncomfortable with the gesture. When Carl took it, Ben coughed, straightening his shoulders, lifting his nose up as if sniffing the air.

'Thanks.' Carl muttered it down at the trap.

In some small ways the huge man reminded him of Jonah. He wasn't as kind, as thoughtful, in fact the only person Ben seemed to care about was Lucy. But there were things, like the way he'd hit Carl on the back with pride, when he'd shot the deer. It was only when they'd turned the deer over that all the pride disappeared.

 ** _'Another horde?' Carl knelt down next to Ben and examined the bites littering the side of the deer._**

 ** _'Must be. They're weak, but they're out there.' The bites were shallow and healing, but they couldn't risk it. Carl stared at the back of Ben's head, sadness filling his chest as he thought of Jonah. He didn't tell Ben, he knew the man wouldn't understand, that or wouldn't care._**

 ** _'You know, I wouldn't have hurt Nine.' Ben shot him a look over his shoulder. Carl carried on, 'I mean, we had our disagreements, but I wouldn't have hurt her.' He went to add it was because he cared, because he didn't want to hurt her, but he realised no one else needed to know that. Carl bumped into the back of Ben, looking up as the man turned slowly, small drops of rain caught in his short hair, scar marring his upper lip. Black eyes looked into Carls, and Carl gulped._**

 ** _'I almost killed you.' Carl wasn't sure how to react, he pushed the dirt under his foot, this way and that. 'The only reason you're alive is because Nine stopped me, if she hadn't you'd be dead.' He turned away again, and Carl blinked over and over at his retreating back. He didn't know what he'd expected, but he'd expected more. again the thought of Nine saving him, after everything sat like a lead weight in his stomach. He sighed, shouldering his bag and followed Ben deeper into the woods, stepping over the fallen deer._**

Carl nodded once at Ben then turned away, leaving the man stood by the hatch, each foot echoing around him. When he turned back, Ben wasn't there, and Carl couldn't see the hatch, as if nothing but empty forest stretched out all around him.

He'd left the dress and the photographs in the chair Nine usually sat in, a small blue cosy arm chair. She'd curl herself into it, feet tucked snugly underneath her. Carl paused, and looked back again. She wouldn't find them for hours, by that time he'd be well on his way, and they'd never see each other again.

 _Just leave. You've been waiting for this. It's time._

He had been waiting, it was time, but he didn't know how, not without Nine. Even when they fought, he felt something. Something was better than nothing, better than numb.

 _Feeling will get you killed. It's weak. You're weak._

Carl slumped against a tree, leaning his head back, letting his bag fall to the earth with a thud.

 _Be sure, Carl._ He rolled his eyes at the sound of Lucy's voice in his head. Problem was, he wasn't sure, didn't know what he wanted anymore. All the while he'd been healing, he knew he should have been thinking about his family, but she crowded his mind. Everything was Nine; how she ate, how she slept, how she bit her bottom lip, how she refused, point blank, to look at him, let alone talk to him. He'd felt invisible, like a shadow. And it hurt.

' ** _If you apologise, I'm sure she'll forgive you. That's usually all it takes from Ben.' Carl pulled a face at the thought of Ben apologising to anyone, didn't seem likely._**

 ** _'I can't.'_**

 ** _'Why not, too embarrassed?' Carl's brow furrowed, Lucy was good at teasing him. It was irritating._**

 ** _'Apologising means i didn't mean it….but i did.' He knew he'd meant everything and given the chance he'd probably do it all over again, because it was his family, and she had lied._**

 ** _'Well you can still be sorry for something you meant. Like Ben, I'm sure he's sorry for nearly killing you. He did mean it though.' Carl grimaced as Lucy pushed Carl's knee up to his face. His whole body complained._**

 ** _'Ow...Really, Ben, sorry? Seriously do we have to do this?' He was lay down on the bed, Lucy manipulating his legs. It hurt._**

 ** _'You've had some serious injuries, healing bones get stiff, hence we need to move them a bit, and yes, Ben, sorry.'_**

 ** _'I've been out hunting.' Lucy just rolled her eyes and moved his legs some more. Carl grimaced._**

 ** _'Have you tried talking to her?' Carl blushed, he hadn't tried, every time he'd wanted to the words had lodged themselves in the space between his lungs and his mouth, refusing to budge. Talking to Nine had never felt easy, but at least it had been possible. He felt like the small bunker was the biggest space between them. the walls creating a vacuum where only hate survived. It muscled in on everything._**

 ** _'I...I...' Carl sighed, burying his chin into his chest, as Lucy dropped his leg._**

 ** _'I know, talking isn't your strongest point. You've got the pictures though. Lift your top, lets have a look how the good lovely puncture wound is doing.' Carl sat up slowly, casting his eyes to the his table. The pictures were in a pile. They weren't perfect and there were quite a few pieces missing, but he'd done a good job. He just didn't know how to give them her. He'd asked Lucy to nose through Nine's belongings to get them. The short dreadlocked nurse had enjoyed the sneaking, but the thought still bothered him. He winced as Lucy poked at his side._**

 ** _'Healing nicely, have to give myself a pat on the back for that one.' Lucy grinned at him as she patted her shoulder._**

 ** _'How would you give them to her?' Lucy sighed, hand on hip, flicking her hair behind her, the strands bounced around like a silent wind chime, Carl watched them silently._**

 ** _'You know, nothing to fancy. Probably take the pictures, walk up to her, and ooo..I don't know, give them to her.' Carl scowled. 'You're making it harder than it has to be.' Lucy always made things sound easy, sound simple, as if the world wasn't falling apart outside, and he wasn't a broken, shattered mess on the inside. He didn't know how to give things, not since he'd given Judith his hat. How had he done that? He couldn't remember. He'd just done it, and then he'd left. He decided that leaving was the key. He wouldn't be there for the fall out, wouldn't see her face contort in anger at the invasion of privacy._**

 _Leave her, leave them all behind. The only one that you need to trust is me. Trust me and forget the others, forget Nine._

He wished he could. Wished for some distraction big enough that Nine wouldn't matter.

The walkers were wandering through the wood, a big mass of them, headed straight for him. He knew he should hide, but he was angry, he needed a direction, a certainty. Everything about killing walkers was certain.

He turned the knife into the first walkers brain, splatters of black blood painting his arm. He turned and kicked a walker away, its mouth open ready to bite, snapped shut as its weak head caved against the trunk of a tree, rotting blood dripping down the bark like black sap. He grabbed his other knife from his belt, stabbing two walkers in the chin, pushing them back into the horde.

 _This is stupid, you need to run. You could die, Carl. You will die if you don't run._

Carl didn't listen, he stabbed, kicked and bashed walkers brains in, till his body screamed at him and his breath clouded the air on a new day. The bodies littered the ground around him, and he stared at them as if he didn't know where they'd come from.

 _You're a fool, they could have killed you_

 _Yeah but they didn't, i'm alive, i beat them._

He was covered in walker blood again. He sighed as he remembered the shower, the warmth water running in little tributaries down his body. He'd been clean, or as clean as he could get. Some of the walker blood just seemed to be a part of his skin.

'Carl?' Carl jumped, turning slowly. Nine was standing there, dress gripped in one hand, photos gripped in the other. She was crying.

'Nine i…' Carl stepped forward.

'Don't go...please..please stay with us.' She flung herself into his arms, but when Carl tried to catch her, she felt like rotting flesh, and brittle bone, he looked up into her eyes and she wasn't Nine anymore, her face mottled and old, flesh falling off bone like melting wax. He fell back, earth crashing to meet his back, the jolt running the length of his shoulder blades, pain following.

'CARL.' Nine's scream shattered the silence, he snapped back into reality, the walkers teeth nearly grazing the end of his nose as he quickly pushed it away. A knife broke the skin between its eyes, pointing at Carl. Rotten blood formed like a tear on the tip and dripped onto Carl's collar bone. It was cold against his skin. The walker fell to the side and Nine stood there. Her eyes red with tears. She yanked him to his feet, then punched him in the jaw, Carl stumbled, grabbing his face and staring at her.

'What the fuck?"

'You left without saying, anything?" She whispered it, but he could hear the venom in her voice.

'I….i…' He had nothing.

'You were just going to go? No goodbye's, just leave a dress and some pictures? Like that's enough?'

'Hey, you haven't spoken to me, in months. Now you don't have to worry about not talking to me.' He grabbed his bag from underneath a walker, grimacing at the rotten flesh stuck to it, he peeled it off and shouldered his bag, turning his back to Nine.

'Look, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't tell you about your family. I just...I need to get to Hope and I just...I wanted you there with me.'

Carl's heart faltered painfully in his chest. Strangely he didn't hate the feeling. Didn't love it either.

 _leave , let her go. She's nothing but trouble, nothing but lies._

'Come with me,' he turned back slightly. She shook her head.

'I want to, Carl...I do...i... I just can't.'

'What's so important in, Hope?' He turned completely, toes facing hers across the small distance, dead walker lying between.

'I don't...I guess..all of this stops.'

'All of what?' Carl scoffed, fiddling with the strap on his bag.

'This,' she gestured to the walkers at their feet. 'All the running, all the worrying, everything just stops. Don't you miss it?' He didn't answer. 'There might actually be something to live for, Carl, something more.'

It did sound nice. He could just be Carl again. Reading comics, being with Nine. No walkers trying to kill him. It never lasted thought, and when it ended, there'd be death, there'd be walkers, and everything would just go back to the way it always had been.

'It won't last.'

'How do you know, you haven't tried.'

'It never does, something always goes wrong, always.' He started pacing angrily, bits of rotting walker crunching under his boots.

'And what, what are you going to do. Hope you find your family, living like this. How can that be okay? You'll die.'

'And what do you care?' He spat in her face, expecting hate, expecting anger, but she was crying again, tears clear and glistening, he followed them down her cheeks confused.

She stepped forward. 'Carl i….' He panicked as her arms encircled his waist, pulling herself closer, burying her head in his chest, tears painting his t-shirt. His bag dropped down to his elbow then off his arm completely, and he wrapped his arms around her, thumb brushing the small hairs on the back of her neck.

Carl started crying.

He was scared, not the normal scared. Not the everyday fear of death that lived on his shoulders. He was terrified of lonely, more than that, terrified of no Nine. His family were somewhere, but Nine was close and smelt like soap.

'I don't want you to leave.' She mumbled it into his chest and his whole body shook with it.

He shook with the realization that he'd been put back together around Nine, like a puzzle of borrowed pieces. A Frankenstein of other people's strength. Without Nine he was gaps and spaces, broken pieces falling across the world. No point, no meaning, no glue to hold everything together.

He gripped her shoulders harder, afraid he'd passed out again, afraid he was seeing things.

'I'll….I'm gonna….I'm gonna stay.' He choked on the words, but he mean them. He wanted to stay.

 _What are you doing you have to leave, you have to leave._

Nine pulled away, searching his eyes.

'Why?'

'I...Because I...I'm not sure.' Nine nodded, pulling away, a blush coloring her cheeks, eyes red and swollen. They walked back to the bunker in silence. He wasn't sure, he wasn't sure he could make it alone, wasn't sure could let her go. He wasn't sure that, even with his family out there alive, he could leave her.

Nine's fingers brushed his, and he let them.

'You're going to need a shower.' Carl smiled, he realised there was no right or wrong anymore, no certainty. There was just Nine.

 _I sometimes think these people will become me and I'll become them._

 _Like we give each other the bits we're missing. All the human things we lack. When we're together we have those human things._

 _Carol said that the only person I can trust is myself. She says it with a faraway look in her eyes. I think there is a darkness that no one else can see, that follows her around. I suppose this world turns us into something different. The only problem is living with what we have become. The mish mash of hate, of mistrust and the small things that fill in the gaps._

 _I don't think i can trust me._

 _Maybe the voices in Carol's head are darker than most._

 _What has the world made her do?_

 _I suppose it all depends on whatever has torn you apart, and then what puts you back together._


	26. Almost Human

The bed springs creaked underneath him as he shifted in the bed, bringing the pillow over his head, trying to drown out the noise. It had started quiet, the odd moan here and there; he'd thought someone was having a bad dream, or worse still, was in trouble. Then the moans had become frantic, edging on screaming, and Carl cringed at the sound of a metal bed frame slamming against in the concrete wall in the room next to his.

Carl wished he still had to take the painkillers, they'd sent him into oblivion every night, meaning he'd missed this.

'Oh, Ben, fuck.' Lucy's voice, slightly muffled, made Carl jump to his feet, blushing. He'd knew this sort of thing went on. It was obvious his dad and Michonne had. But they had at least been quiet, remembered they were sharing a living space. There had been awkward conversations with his dad, with Carol, once even with Glenn, all seeming to start with 'when you're older…' Well now he was, and nothing had changed, nothing was explained.

Another moan from Lucy had him flinging open his door and heading into the main room. Lucy had done her best to make it as homely as possible, draping colorful blankets over every available surface. There was a zebra print rug that Lucy had exclaimed she simply had to have. A moan followed him into the room and Carl buried his head in the palm of his hand. He sighed and climbed the ladder, lifting the hatch. It was cold, Carl shivered and hoisted himself up.

'Carl?' Carl spun around quickly, hand reaching for his knife. His shoulders slumped with relief when he saw Nine. She was curled beneath a tree, florescent light from a solar lamp lighting up the side of her face, colourful patchwork blanket wrapped around her legs. Carl noticed the photographs he'd fixed littering her lap, his chest swelled with pride.

'They're...they're really loud.' Carl jabbed his thumb in the direction of the closed hatch, a blush colouring his face as he dug his hands into his pockets. Nine giggled unexpectedly, something he hadn't heard before. He liked the sound, and the blush that accompanied it.

'I know...it's embarrassing.'

'How have they survived this long?' Nine laughed, covering her mouth to muffle the sound.

'I think Lucy would view it as an achievement if she attracted a horde.'Carl chuckled, nodding in agreement. It was true, Lucy wasn't shy about anything. Carl hunched his shoulders against the cold.

'Look I….I know...I know I've,' Carl cleared his throat, kicking at the frozen dirt beneath his feet, he looked up at the sky, grey with clouds, 'I'm sorry for...for what I did.' He chanced a look at Nine, her head tipped to one side, a small frown furrowing on her forehead. Then she smiled, it was small, but it made his shoulders relax. She pulled back the blanket, patting the earth beside her. Carl hesitated slightly before making his way over to her, his gangly shadow stretching across the ground in the small circle of light she sat in. He slid down the trunk, bark digging into his back. It was cold, but Nine was radiating heat. She placed the blanket back over their legs, Carl fingered the stitching, picking at the frayed edges.

'You know, you shouldn't have taken on all those walkers alone.' Nine stumbled over the word walker like she always did, unused to calling them it. Carl turned his head slightly to look at her.

'I know.'

'What….what happened with the last one, it's like you just stopped trying.' Lucy had said it was fatigue, that's why he'd hallucinated, that's what had made him pass out. She'd said it while waving her finger in his face, jabbering on about how he shouldn't push himself, how his body was still weak.

Carl stretched out his one leg, arm resting on his knee. He met her gaze with a grin. 'I thought it was you.' Nine's mouth fell open and she hit him in the arm. Carl groaned in pain, but chuckled at how offended she looked.

'You're an ass.' The laughter bubbled out of him, only stopping when Nine's head dropped onto his shoulder, arm brushing up against his as she sighed.

'I'm glad you decided to stay.' Nine mumbled, hiding her face from him. Carl was grateful, he didn't want her to see how happy and uncomfortable her words made him. He stayed silent for a while unsure what to say.

'Ben and Lucy are weird.' He turned and mumbled it into her hair.

'They are aren't they.' Carl nodded. He'd missed this, missed Nine. Missed just been able to speak to her. To be with her.

'You...you stopped Ben.' Hands in his lap, his thumbs circled one another. Nine sat up, trying to tuck strands of short hair behind her ears. He noticed she did that when she was nervous, he guessed it was a habit that clung on from when she had long hair.

'I didn't want you to die, I still don't.' She met Carl's gaze and instantly looked away. 'I'm really sorry he hurt you so bad.' Carl smiled slightly, watching Nine trace the outline of a purple square with the tip of her finger, over and over.

'It's okay, it's not your fault.'

Something cold and wet hit the end of his nose, and he looked up. White flakes fell silently from the sky.

'It's snowing.' Nine stared up at the sky in awe, hand stretched out to catch the snowflakes. Carl watched them melt into tiny puddles of water. He wanted to dip his finger and paint the palm of her hand with the water, hold her warm hand against his cheek.

Carl buried his face in his hands.

 _This is disgusting. You'll die. You will die. Weak, and alone. She betrayed you once, she'll do it again. Loving doesn't help, no one will care for you , they all just want to live._

 _Nine's different!_

 _How, how is she different. She'll leave you, betray you. You think she cares about you? Look at you. Half a face. Ugly, weak. There's nothing she could want from you, nothing. And there is nothing you need from her._

Carl fingered the scars on his face. He didn't think about it often, but when he did, he was reminded of how weird he looked, how deformed. They'd always told him it wasn't that bad, the whole group had. But when he looked at himself in the mirror he hated what he saw. He knew it was stupid, because being nice to look at didn't matter, didn't keep you alive. But with Nine he cared, wanted her to like looking at him. The thought made him shift uncomfortably.

' 'Does it hurt?' Carl looked up, eye widening at how close Nine was, breath clouding the air with his, they curled around one another and floated up amongst the snowflakes.

'What?' His voice wobbled, and he coughed.

'Your eye?' She pointed at her own eye, bright almost luminescent in the blue light. He could see himself reflected in them.

'Oh...er.' He fingered the scars again, scratching the back of his head, his hair was growing.

'I, I er wanted...to er ask before but…' Carl nodded. It did hurt sometimes, like someone stabbing him. It would wake him up at night. Sometimes it felt like his eyes was still there.

'Sometimes. Not too much though. It's...It's worse when it feels like it's still there.'

'Like phantom eye?' Carl nodded, smiling a little at Nine laughing.

'Can I...er' She was reaching forward, fingers stretched toward his face. Carl sat back, turning his head to her, letting her fingertips trace the webbing of scars. She was close, as close as Enid had been. He'd been scared then, more scared than he'd ever been of anything. But with Nine, he was petrified. Her touch felt nice on the scar tissue, like an acceptance he didn't know how to deal with.

He reached up, fingers curling around her hand. He wanted to pull it away, but something stopped him, his little finger spasming. Nine's eyes were staring into his.

He'd never known silence like the moment before he kissed her. The snow gently fell to earth, only a whisper of its impact against leaves. A snowflake caught in her hair. Her lips were parted, breath fogging in the blue light. A drop of melted snow trickled down the W from her hair and Carl followed its progress as it got caught in her eyebrow.

The kiss was a question, a curiosity. 'I want...I.' He mumbled as he closed the tiny gap, nose bumping against one another, lips overlapping hers, fingers gripping her hand gently. The feeling made his eyes fall shut. There wasn't supposed to be nice, not now. But he felt it. It bloomed in his chest, it hurt, like heart burn.

When Carl pulled away the world rushed in, screams of voices in his head, they roared and Carl jumped away. Scrambling to his feet and untangling himself from the patchwork blanket, jumping out of the halo of blue light and into the snow. Nine looked confused, lips still parted, eyes wide and following him. She looked beautiful, looked like a world of things he'd never thought he'd want. But he wanted to kiss her again. Carl stuttered uncertain.

'Carl…' Nine was getting up.

'I...I...I'm sorry I…' He left her, scrambling down the hatch and slamming the door to his room, heart in his throat.

 _What are you doing?_

 _I don't know..I don't know what I_

 _You're weak. Weak. You're going to die like everyone else._

Carl couldn't sleep, couldn't rest, the voices didn't let up. He didn't know how he was going to face her, what he was going to do. He did think about just running away, but he didn't want to, couldn't. He knew he shouldn't care, shouldn't want the things he hoped for with her. But kissing Nine had felt nice, felt real, almost human.

 _Watching Rick and Michonne makes me feel lonely._

 _I know love shouldn't matter, but it does._

 _Even when the world has ended, something stupid as holding someone's hand still matters._

 _Jonah's wife kept him going. She wasn't alive but he still loved her._

 _I see them together, her skin stark against his, when they hold hands, when they kiss. I think of Jimmy, the way he used to kiss me. Think about the way I'd slant my head and kiss him back._

 _There's nothing sane about it._

 _Jimmy is dead and wanting someone to share my impossibly hopeless life with is pointless. They'll probably die and leave me alone._

 _But i guess it's human._

 _Like breath in your lungs, blood in your veins. Heart in the centre pumping everything._

 _It's human, like crying, like laughing._

 _Like watching the world fall apart and still thinking there's a corner of the planet still intact._

 _What is love now?_

 _What does it feel like?_

 _One minute Rick and Michonne are killing, eyes cold. Next they're melting into one another, smiles bright, world falling away for them. Just them._

 _I know it's pointless, I know it's weak. But I want that. Someone else's human to match my human, to be all the human we can, together._


	27. Secret

_Judith asked me my name._

 _My real name._

 _And i just couldn't tell her. I don't think I can tell anyone. That me, is just a ghost, a haunting. I keep her locked away with my family._

 _The last time i heard my name my dad whispered it, just like a secret, and then he died. I like to think she died with him, that ended the me before, that i buried her at see too. But she's not. She's a secret. My secret, that i need to keep. Something that doesn't belong to the world. She belongs to me, and always will._

' _Is there anyone you will tell?' Her hair was long and felt like silk between my fingers. From the back Judith reminds me of Jenna. Sometimes i hear her voice in my head, as if she's right next to me, talking about boys, ice cream and all the secrets we keep._

 _I said maybe._

 _Maybe? That means there's a possibility, a chance that i'll find someone i trust that much, that i love that much. Where all my hidden things become there's, every whisper, every thought, all theirs. Theirs all mine._

 _Judith told me a secret, she says she talks to her brother. Holds the sheriff's hat on her lap and talks at it like he can hear her, like there aren't spaces, like there isn't earth and sky between them. Just connection._

' _Like a conduit?' She scrunched her nose. She didn't look like her dad when she did that. I wonder whether that was all Judith, or whether that was a bit of her mom shining through. No one talks about her mom._

' _What's a conduit?' I like the way she struggled over the word, almost like she was unsure of the taste._

' _A channel, a connection.' Dad, that was the only reason i knew, he liked the sea and he liked words. He loved the way they sounded, I guess i get that from him._

 _Judith beamed at me, the smile all Rick Grimes, eyes shimmering in the way his never do._

' _Con-du-it. I like it.' She paused poking her finger through a hole in the brim of the hat. I braided her hair._

' _You know sometimes...sometimes i think i can hear him.' Her voice was quiet and I strained to hear. She was uncertain. I know how she feels, I know the uncertainty, know the crazy as they talk inside your head, saying things they used to. Like somehow if you wished, hoped, they'd fall out of your eyes, out of your head and just be there in front of you._

' _What does he say?'_

' _That he'll be back, just like he promised.'_

 _I know it's just memories, just imprints of the past. Carl Grimes might not even be breathing anymore, might just be apart of the gone, the just about remembered. But I didn't tell her that, I can't. She lives with so much hope._

 _Someone has joined us. Christo and his daughter Amallil. He's not from America, not from here. I can tell from the accent, from the way the look. But i suppose none of that matters anymore, none of us are from anywhere anymore, we just are._

 _I don't like christo. He unnerves me, the comfort i feel in the group now feels unsettled when he's there. The way his shadows falls across things, gangly and dark, and always present. His cheeks gaunt, eyes like them, like the dead. Something missing, something absent._

 _Amallil screams at night, great loud shrieks that mean we have to move, pack up everything and wander into the night. The dead always come._

 _Amallil mumbles and mumbles about things, about the dark, about the death and the blood. I keep Judith away from her. Like Rick keeps her from the horrors. I know how he feels, know why the ice in his eyes melts just a little when she's around, why he shoulders all the hurt._

 _Judith is different. She is bright, even with everything, where her life has taken her, she remains untainted, and like Rick i want to keep it that way._

 _Hold onto her like my name._

 _Like a secret I'll never let the darkness know._

Carl wasn't sure whether he liked the snow. It looked nice, like a blanket of right over wrong, lit the world in a way he'd never seen, brought everything shuddering to a stand still. The world a different kind of quiet. But it made them obvious. He pushed his foot into the mud beneath his feet, ground sodden where the snow had melted.

'Well, anyone who's looking will know where to find us,' Carl followed the path of his breath, looking up at the sky. It was grey with the promise of more snow.

Ben was right, the heat from the bunker had risen, melting the snow in a neat square.

'We'll have to lay down some tracks, be extra cautious.' Carl nodded, shifting from one foot to the other.

He looked up at Ben. The man was ugly, end-of-the-world-happened ugly, more scar tissue than man. A nasty scar ran from his chin, over his mouth, right up to underneath his eye. The skin had knit together, pulling his top lip into a snarl. His nose was smudged across his face, pointing in all directions. Carl caught a glimpse of the death toll marked as little lines on his arms. Fallen men and walkers. Carl wondered what his own tally would look like.

'This pipe collects water, feeds it to a tank.' Carl watched as Ben knelt down, pulling away some rock to reveal a hidden funnel, the pipe disappearing into the earth. 'At the moment I'd say it's what? A couple below freezing?' Carl could believe it, the wind had a teeth, biting into his skin when it whistled past. 'We get much colder than that and we've got a problem.'

'Why?" Carl's brow furrowed in confusion.

'Burst pipes, no heating, we get snowed in. Whoever built this knew some, but not enough. Not enough for weather like this anyway.'

'Could you fix it.' The big man grimaced, mouth turning down, scar making his chin look awkward.

'Not with what we have here, if a pipe bursts, we'll have to go.'

Carl wasn't sure how he felt about that, the world felt open, vast. It used to feel like freedom, but now it was just a huge open space where he couldn't hide from Nine, couldn't pretend he hadn't kissed her. Because he had, and it had been new, something different, like a break in monotony. Moments alone had him thinking about it.

She hadn't tasted like death. She'd tasted like chocolate, like the small cube of it that Lucy had revealed at dinner, the piece that looked more white than it should've, but tasted good.

Ben cleared his throat, chest puffing out, he pushed himself up onto his toes, becoming even taller than Carl, before falling back onto his heels. 'You...you and Nine, you okay?' Ben didn't want to ask the question, and Carl could see he didn't care to hear the answer. He got the niggling feeling Lucy had twisted Ben's arm into saying something, since Carl had refused to talk to the dreadlocked nurse about it.

He knew how Lucy would react, squeals and hugs, telling him how wonderful it all was. But it wasn't. It was weak, weak and distracting, and it made him feel like a younger, foolish version of himself. He didn't like it. Carl Grimes wasn't weak.

'Surviving is right, you should do that.' Ben's voice seemed deeper, like he'd gone right to the depths to find the words. They felt dusty, as if they'd always been there, somewhere.

'But you live, you live and then what?" Ben was looking through the woods, eyes squinted uncomfortably. Carl hadn't thought about it, everything was here, now, the moment.

'When you stop, who's going to be there to stop the crazy?' It didn't sound like something Ben would say, but then again, people had, over and over and over, surprised him. Somehow astounded him, scared him. And Ben had managed to all at once.

It was hard to pretend he didn't miss Nine, didn't want to lean forward like he'd done before and just ask, taste the answer, like chocolate. Of all the distractions she felt like the best, like the only one he'd want to keep him from falling into his own mind, with the voices, with the darkness.

'Lucy, put you up to this, didn't she?" The big man nodded, shoulders hunching.

'That obvious?'

'Little bit.' Ben made a noise that sounded suspiciously like laughing and it made Carl's mouth itch with a smile.

'She's right though. Alone is one sure way to get yourself killed.'

Ben lifted the hatch and disappeared down the ladder, hatch closing with a click after him. Carl sighed, rubbing his face.

 _Why does any of this matter? You live or you die, the gaps in between are nothing but side notes. No one is going to care if you like a girl when your bleeding everything into the earth._

It was true. What did it matter? Why did it matter? Why did she matter? He blamed Jonah for making him soft.

 _It was the dancing, the pointless dancing._

 _Nothing is pointless, everything just is._

 _Dancing didn't stop you from dying_

 _No, but it didn't kill me either. You did that._

Carl huffed, then froze. His fight with Jonah had been loud in his head, so loud he hadn't heard the hatch open, hadn't heard her climb out. But he knew she was behind him, waiting. He didn't move.

'Carl?' After a moment's deliberation he turned, wondering why his name was always a question. The snowball hit him in the face, the impact making his ears ring and his jaw ache. Clumps of snow clinging to his eyebrows and eyelashes. It was a shock more than anything, one that left him unable to move, unable to speak, opening and closing his mouth.

'You're an ass, you know that?' She was angry with him, again, leaning down and gathering more snow, her fingers turning pink with cold. It took a few seconds for him to realise he was going to get hit again. He turned, snow bursting in a cloud against his shoulder. He stumbled slightly, heading for cover behind a tree.

'Why the hell have you been ignoring me?' She wasn't shouting, but he was aware how quiet their surroundings were in comparison.

He didn't have an answer so he gathered snow in his hands, trying his best to mould it into a ball.

'You kiss me, then ignore me. What the hell is with that.' More snow clouded by his head as it hit against the trunk of the tree. He didn't like how she just said it. He threw his snowball, hitting her arm as she dodged out the way. Another hit the back of his head, snow falling inside his clothes and sliding down his back. He shivered.

Carl lifted his hands up, giving up, surrendering, his hair plastered against his forehead. It had grown and he hadn't cut it. He was getting lazy.

'Nine I…' snow filled his mouth, making his teeth hurt, as she threw one last snowball at him. He wiped his mouth and looked at her properly for the first time in days. It made his stomach hurt. She was just Nine, the same as she'd always been. But somehow she wasn't anymore. He knew people became more, just through being there; michonne had. But with Nine it was different. She hadn't snuck in, hadn't crept past his defences while he wasn't looking. He'd just opened the door and stepped aside.

That was why he couldn't let go.

His secret, his whisper, was the fact that, he wasn't running because it scared him, he was running because it didn't. Because there was no fear, no uncertainty.

Uncertainty had become every hour of the day and fear a weird kind of oxygen. Without it he choked.

 _You're a hypocrite._ Jonah murmured in his head. For a moment Carl wondered if Nine could hear him too, she didn't move.

 _And you're dead!_

 _Touche_

'I don't….I don't understand. Did i do something wrong.' Carl shook his head, the fact that she thought that pained him. She'd done so many things wrong, but not that.

'No...you were...you were..you.'

 _Wow, you're a real romeo aren't you?_ Jonah was beginning to annoy him.

'Then what? What is it? Why ignore me? You know if you'd have asked me, instead of running away, i could have told you that…'

The knife flew past them, a few inches from the end of Nine's nose. Her eyes widened in shock, the blade clattering against the trunk of the tree and thudding into the snow beneath. Carl lunged for Nine, pulling her by the wrist behind him.

They sounded like they were everywhere, shrieks flying through the still air, they sounded like animals. The stepped from behind trees, and Carl counted; one, two, three, four...one up a tree. He reached for his knife slowly, holding the cold blade in his palm, the sharp edge against him, grounding him. He was fear again, breathing it, living the uncertainty, and it was as easy as putting on a coat.

'Carl?" His name a question again, she had her own knife in her hands, he could feel her back pressing against his.

'We've got this, it's going to be okay.'

'That's it sweetheart, listen to your boyfriend. It's all going to be okay.' Carl met the leaders gaze levely. The man had shaved himself a mohawk, tattooed black dots covering the exposed skin. He'd met some evil people in his time, stared right into their unflinching souls, the governor, Negan, his dad. But the man he stared into, was just scared. Scared to die, scared someone would end it all.

Carl flicked the knife through the air, and a man fell out the tree, handle sticking out of his eyes, his mouth shut in a solemn line. Then they attacked, all at once, animal calls as they rushed forward. Carl ducked as a man swung a panel of wood with nails in the end and pulled his knife out his pocket, slicing his belly open, the sharpened knife cut through the skin like it was butter, guts dribbling out of him. The snow at his feet turned red and the plank of wood made a nice ditch where it fell. An old man rushed forward, broken piece of glass wrapped in cloth gripped in his wrinkled hand, Carl stepped to one side, grabbing his head and snapping his neck, pushing the blade through his eye. When he looked up he could see the leader running way, tripping and stumbling in panic. Carl launched himself after him, but Nine screamed.

He turned, Nine was on the floor, knife in her shoulder, the large man gripping her neck, holding her down. With a cry Nine pulled out the knife, stabbing him in the leg. Carl grabbed the plank of wood, pulling Nine to her feet. He was young, black dots along his cheeks and over the bridge of his nose. He recognised them from the cannibals.

'Please, please don't kill me...I can...I can help you…' He was crying, his nose dripping with how much he didn't want to die.

Carl brought the panel down on his face, nails lodging in his cheek, he screamed as Carl yanked the nails out.

'Pwease...pwease.' He held his hand out in front of him. Carl sometimes wondered why pain contorted everything, stopped thinking. Why it made everything juddery. The man seemed to be trying to grip at something in the air, long blonde hair sticking to the wound on his cheek, brown eyes pleading.

The next time Carl hit him, the man's head bounced against the ground, long hair splaying out in the snow like a halo. Nails lodging in his chin, one piercing his bottom lip.

'You shouldn't have fucking stabbed her.' He must have heard, even after two hits there was still a flicker, still something conscious, because his eyes widened with the certainty of an end. Carl felt it. Felt the power of it, the relief.

He hit him over and over, till clumps of the man's face got caught between the nails. He dropped the piece of wood, sucking air into his lungs as he turned to Nine.

She was shaking with the cold, holding her bleeding shoulder. Carl inspected the wound, gently peeling back the material of her t-shirt that stuck to it. Nine winced. It wasn't too bad. Carl cupped her face in his hands, feeling her pulse thump against his little finger. Blood from his hands smeared across her cheeks, but Carl didn't move them, instead sighed, and pressed his forehead against hers.

'Didn't get you anywhere else did he?' Nine shook her head, leaning into him a little. When he stepped back and began walking back to the bunker Nine threaded her fingers through his and Carl let her. Ben came through the trees, his huge bulk moving quickly, a frown of worry set on his face. Lucy trailed behind him.

'What happened, someone tried blocking up the hatch with a rock?'

'We were attacked by a group of men, one of them got away.' Ben nodded at Carl's words, stomping past them, following the tracks of the runaway leader. Lucy inspected the wound, grimacing and leading Nine to the bunker, her arm wrapped round Nine's shoulders.

Carl watched her sleeping. Lucy had patched her up and given her pain killers, Ben had returned empty handed. It had started snowing again, and the tracks had been covered.

Carl held Nine's fingers in his, watching her breathe in and out. Death had made everything simple, everything falling into the perspective of an ending. Bashing that man's head in had been easy, muscle memory. Death was just apart of who he was.

Stopping, getting safe, becoming comfortable had made things complicated, strange. But this was how he was, who he was. And she was his secret, his whisper, his hidden. Because even with all the death, he at least needed something to live for.


	28. Ghosts

I'm really sorry it's taken so long to write anything. Life has been a bit hectic with studying. I hope you enjoy :)

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The hole in the ceiling opened up like a wound, metal and plaster hanging off like pieces of flesh, brown vines tumbled through the gap, water frozen to dead leaves in tiny pearls. Carl pressed his finger against one of the icicles reaching for the ground, lining the edge of the hole like teeth. He winced at the cold of it flooding his veins, peering into the distorted world in its depths, wondering vaguely if he could climb inside and freeze. Never have to think, never have to feel.

He was stood atop a pile of snow, gazing up at the sky. It was blue, ice blue. He thought of Nine and gritted his teeth.

Nine being ill.

Nine at the bunker dying.

Nine relying on him, and he was staring at the sky. The thought of losing her nearly made his legs give out, but he shook his head, sliding off the pile of snow onto the blue linoleum flooring of the hospital corridor.

 **He hadn't had the same control before. Hadn't managed to stay standing. His legs had wobbled and shook as Nine has struggled for breath. Then they'd just collapsed beneath him as he'd watched her back arch painfully off the bed, sweat beading on the brow. She'd screamed in pain, and the sound had made him whimper. The blanket had felt rough in his fingers as he clutched at it desperately, mumbling her name over and over, as if it would make a difference, as if it could have helped.**

Carl shivered, glaring at the walls either side of him, filth clung to him. Hand prints streaked the white paint here and there, from a past panic, a past death. He breathed slowly, letting the air pass between his teeth silently, just like he'd seen Ben do so many times. He gripped his knife tighter, ignoring the cold numbness that sent pain all the way up to his elbow from each finger.

He vaguely remembered an abandoned house, back when the world was together, when living was normal. Memories from then had a strange kind of brightness to them that made his head hurt. He could see the house though, as if it were right in front of him. There'd been about five of his friends from school, he almost chuckled at the absurdity of thinking of friends, of school. The words felt alien. They'd been wandering through the woods, the trees were orange with autumn, sun bursting through the gaps in the branches, and then there it was. Old, its roof sagging, smashed and boarded windows. The spook of it lingered and it smelt of mould and emptiness. Everyone said that it was haunted and he'd believed it, could feel the chill of it, even in the sun, even with the trees aflame with all number of fiery colours, there was a coldness.

Carl had felt the same chill when he and Ben had made it to the hospital, and now stood in the corridor he felt it again. As frozen as he was, right down to the middle and outward, he still felt the fear dancing up his arms and down his back. It was haunted, the halls and walls echoed with it, rooms sat and decayed within it.

More snow tumbled through the hole in the ceiling and Carl jumped at the noise, turning to watch the snowflakes shimmer through the air and settle quickly.

 **He'd thrown a chair at the wall, and watched the gash it left bleed grey dust onto the floor, it collected in a little pile. The chair lay like a wounded animal by the side, leg bent inward. Lucy had just stared open mouthed as he'd screamed in her face, screamed at her to do something, anything, because Nine was in pain. Ben had pulled him back, pinning his arms to his side as he kicked and cried and blubbed his way to a mess. A mess that Ben eventually dropped and watched puddle on the floor.**

 **Then Lucy had knelt down and held him.**

Carl let out a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding, turning to continue his search. He half expected everything to be gone, looted in the initial panic of the world going to shit. He had to try though, he had to try because he'd promised Nine, and it wasn't a promise he intended to break.

 **He'd cried for what felt like an age, clinging onto Lucy's shirt, grabbing fistfulls and shaking with the fear that after everything, after all the trying, all the fighting, she was just going to die anyway.**

 **Eventually Lucy had pulled away and gone back to Nine, and Ben had stood beside him, arms behind his back, black eyes vacant, looking at the damage to the chair and the wall. Carl didn't move from the floor, not till Lucy came back, another chair in her hands. She'd helped him into it, and met his stare with her own. And then he'd just known that he couldn't fight whatever it was, couldn't run.**

Carl paused, turning his head, a gentle tap, tap, tap reaching his ears. He pressed himself against the wall, pulling a second knife from his pocket, fingers struggling with the cold for a moment, before they finally responded. He almost smiled at the familiar press of the handle against his skin,it took him back to the time of his tried and tested routine, long before Nine, long before all the weird and uncertain feelings he wasn't sure he could cope with, the memory of it brought some kind of comfort. His little finger twitched slightly, and his jacket hissed against the wall as he followed the noise.

 **Tetanus. He'd just stared at Lucy when she'd said it, her eyes a filled with worry, it had made them look darker, and Carl hadn't liked the colour. He'd vaguely recognised the name, but it couldn't be possible, he repeated it over and over in his head. It couldn't be possible because the world, because he'd fought and fought to find her. She couldn't just be dying, because she was immune, she was immune to be a walker, so nothing else could hurt her, nothing else could get her.**

 **'But, she's...she can't be a walker.' he knew it had been a stupid thing to say almost as soon as it had left his mouth. Silence had followed and Lucy had just gazed at him, her eyes full of an emotion he couldn't remember the name of, he'd seen it somewhere before, but for the life of him….**

 **'Carl?' He'd jumped when he'd realised she was still talking to him, still saying words, still not helping Nine.**

 **'Calr, sweetie, you're in shock.' He'd laughed, actually laughed, and it had tasted bitter in his mouth, the ringing in his ears had made him feel sick. There'd been shocks travelling up his arms and he hadn't been able to breathe, hadn't been able to think past the overwhelming need to just give up. Because Nine was ill and he couldn't do anything.**

 **'Carl, look at me,' Her eyes had been level with his. 'Carl, breathe. You need to breathe.'**

 **'I can't.' He hadn't recognised his voice and when he'd tried to swallow, his throat had felt big, too big and not his.**

 **'We can still help her, but she needs you. Right now Nine really needs you to be okay.' Everything had stilled, had been so quiet. Like the snow, like when he'd kissed her, like when he'd knelt next to her bed and finally realised that she was the reason he kept on breathing anymore, when he realised that she was the little flicker of life in all the death.**

 **'That's it, breathe, in and out.' Carl had stared at the scar on his hand, the scar left there by Nine, watching the fingers twitch. It had grounded him, brought him rushing back into the small room, with light, broken chairs and a small dreadlocked woman holding his face in her hands.**

 **'We need to act fast, if she's got any chance of getting through this, we need to do something now.' Carl had nodded, and Ben had brought a map in the room, spreading it across the table. Somehow he'd picked himself up off the chair and stood beside him, focusing on the twitch in his fingers, as if the remnants of Nine on him was a sign that she was going to be okay.**

The tapping lead to a door, Carl paused, staring at the handle for a moment, before turning it quietly and slipping through the gap.

The room smelt like death, old death. Death that had rotted its last and settled its old bones. The air was thick with it and Carl's nose wrinkled as he glanced around. His eyes widened as he found the source of the noise, the cold chill once again dancing up his arms and down his spine, making him shiver.

There was walker, trapped between a bed and a crib, the crib shifted from side to side as the walker pathetically tried it get past it, the wheels hitting against the mettle of the bed; tap, tap, tap. Whoever it had been, had been young. Young and female, and a patient. The gown hung off her and Carl turned away as the gown fell, opening up and revealing leather skin stretched over bone. It's mouth opened and closed, growls and gurgles silenced to wheezes.

The crib was empty, although it hadn't always been, Carl could still see the blood stains along the side of it, and a patch of blood coating the blankets that lay at the bottom. He close his eye, running the back of his hand along his cheek. With a breath he made his way across the room towards it. The walker feebly reached out an arm, body pushing up against the crib; tap, tap, tap. He gripped the back of its head, grimacing as bit of hair and skin came away from the skull, falling over his fingers, as thin as paper and as cold as the snow outside.

It stopped moving as soon as he pressed the knife through the hole where its eye had been a long time ago.

Carl glanced around him, wiping his knife on the bed sheets, as moved to the small table covered in dusty cards and the remnants of flowers, wrapped in faded blue paper. A teddy bear lay in the rubble on the floor, it's a boy stitched onto its belly. There was a picture; whoever it had been, she'd been pretty. She grinned at him from the frame, one hand clutching a swollen belly. Carl wanted to cry again, wanted to give up. He'd expected, wanted, needed a happy ending. But there was none, just a world full of remnants of brighter moments, happier memories, that faded with time and haunted abandoned homes, abandoned places. Why would he expect anything to work out, when the ghost that followed him, that lived everywhere hadn't had the same.

 _We are all dying, all dead, all ghosts. Wouldn't it just be better to let her go?_

'No.' He gritted his teeth, placing the frame back, and leaving the room, shutting it's ghost away.

 **'There's a hospital, not far. The snow will make it hard, but i reckon we could be there and back in,' Ben had shrugged his shoulders glancing up at Lucy, 'three days?' He'd pointed down at the circled area of the map.**

 **'Three days? Did you fucking see her? She doesn't have three days.' Carl had growled it at him, wishing he could just make everything Nine needed appear. Ben chose to ignore him.**

 **'We'd need to keep moving, what with all the people we've run into. Maybe stop once for sleep.' Carl nodded, Ben's eyes had bored into his, steady and full of the same resolve he'd seen turn his father's eyes to ice. They were going to find everything Nine needed, no matter what. Carl had looked down at the list Lucy had scribbled for them, and for a moment hoped, hoped that maybe he could save Nine, again.**

The hospital was like maze, corridors and dark rooms, but nothing of what he was looking for. He could hear Lucy's voice in his head, hoping that her vague instructions could somehow direct him to the right place. ' _The stuff will most likely be in a supply closet, look there, and Carl I need everything on that list, otherwise I…'_ He hadn't waited to hear the end, hadn't wanted to.

Something clattered in a room down the end of the corridor and Carl pressed himself against the wall, the words 'welcome to hell' were painted across from him in the familiar rusty brown of old blood. He made his way down the corridor, noises getting louder, he could hear a man muttering under his breath, and bottles clinking, as they knocked together.

He glanced around the corner. There was a man, clothes hanging off his slim frame as he stuffed bottles into his bag. Carl let his head fall back in relief when he heard the familiar rattle of pills and saw supplies printed on the open door.

The man was packing away most of what was left and Carl felt his stomach cramp in panic.

 _Kill him_

 _No, don't, he might not even have what you need_ Carl gripped his knife tighter at his mom's words.

 _Kill him._

The man ran towards the door, and Carl grabbed the collar of his coat, using all the strength he had left to fling him against the wall. The man flailed in shock as his head smacked against the wall with a loud crack, and he landed heavily against the floor. He tried to crawl, boots struggling for purchase on the dusty floor. Carl yanked him back, watching the blood trickle thickly from his nose, running into his brown beard, which like his hair was flecked with grey.

'Please, please don't hurt me.' his hand splayed in out in front of him, shuffling back, other hand gently touching his injured nose. Carl picked up the bag glancing inside, heart in his throat with hope. The man lunged at him, knocking the air out of his body, and sending him flying back against the floor. Carl groaned, knives falling out of his hands as they slammed against the cold linoleum. The man was on his feet again, long gangly fingers grasping for his bag, Carl swung, his fist connecting with the side of his knee, the man stumbled, yelling in pain.

The rock hit Carl's head, and he felt dizzy for a second, the world blurring, falling in and out of focus. He could feel the blood trickling down the side of his face, but he didn't care. The man was getting away, getting way with supplies that could save Nine. He pushed himself to his feet, fingers curling around his knife. He ran after him, chasing him through miles of corridors

 _Kill him._

 _kill him._

 _kill him._

It was as regular and frequent as the tap, tap, tap he'd heard, like a mantra in his head. He needed whatever the man had, Nine needed it. She couldn't die he wouldn't let her. Wouldn't let him kill her. Finally they made it back to the gap in the ceiling, and Carl ran into him, pushing the knife into his back, as they both fell onto the pile of snow. He pulled it out and pushed it back in again, the man choking and wheezing, spitting blood across the white. Carl pulled the man onto his back, holding the bloody blade across his throat.

Slowly the man's eyes widened, and Carl paused. It wasn't fear, the man wasn't scared, and there was something familiar in the brown eyes, a deep sort of kindness that he felt like he knew.

'Carl?' Carl recoiled at the sound of his name, knife falling with a gently thud into the snow, turning it pink. The man was crying and grinning, his teeth crimson. 'Carl,' he choked, and blood pooled out from behind him, 'It is you.'

Carl shook his head, stepping back, his shoulders brushing the wall. 'I don't know you.' The man laughed, more blood dribbling down his chin, as he chuckled.

'Just like your dad.' There was no malice in what he said, only fact, only certainty, and that kindness. Carl pushed himself forward, grabbing the man's shirt pulling his face close.

'Who are you?' his voice was hoarse, and he realised that he was crying, and his tears were dripping onto the stranger's face. The man smiled again, but he'd stopped moving, stopped breathing, and his eyes, wide and brown, were staring up at the empty blue sky.

Carl let his body fall, looking desperately for any sign, any clue of who he was, how he knew him. He didn't know, he couldn't remember, couldn't see the man's face in any of his memories. He was gaunt and weak, arms and legs like matchsticks. His hair long and scraggly, his beard much the same. What had the world done to everyone? Turning everyone into ghosts, making them so unfamiliar, so unreal.

'Who are you?' he whispered again. He sat like that for some time, before memories of Nine made him move.

Carl checked the bag, comparing every bottle with his list. He pushed it back, another sob escaping his lips. He'd had nothing he needed, nothing at all. Carl held his face and cried. 'I'm sorry...I'm so sorry. I can't let her die.' he mumbled down at the body. Then he got up and went to the supply closet, and everything was there. He checked his list against it all, and used the strangers bag to carry it.

When Ben found him, he was staring down at the bag, it was brown and worn and he felt like he'd seen it before. But he couldn't think. There was so much in between all his memories, so much hate, so much darkness. They all blended into one.

'You have trouble?' Ben asked, glancing at the blood spattered all over him. Carl shook his head, shouldering the bag. He wanted to say that they were all just ghosts, and this was all just part of haunting the world they now lived in. All part of living the death.

But he didn't say anything, he didn't even look back, because the stranger was dead. Dead and unfamiliar. He'd made sure of it. And now they had the things for Nine. Nine was his reason. The stranger wasn't. The stranger was just a ghost and he dealt with ghosts the only way he knew how, to pretend they didn't exist.

 **He'd knelt over the bed, brushing her hair off her face, tracing her w with his finger. 'I'll come back, I promise, I'll come back and you'll be okay.' he pressed his head against hers, her skin burning against his own. 'You're gonna be okay, no matter what.'**

 _Judith sometimes comes and cuddles up close at night, her blonde hair bright in the moonlight. She says she's afraid of ghosts. I don't blame her. They are everywhere now, horrors lurk round every corner, in every space and every movement is stepping into a nightmare._

 _But I lie._

 _I hug her and tell her that there are no such things as ghosts. That noises are just noises and in spite of all the bad, there is good in the world. Like her, her dad, Michonne, like all of us. Like her brother, somewhere else. A promise on his shoulders and a sister's hope keeping him alive._

 _I don't know why I lie._

 _Maybe it's more for me. A way for me to pretend. Pretend that there aren't ghosts everywhere i turn, pretend that every corner of mind isn't haunted by something, by someone._

 _Stupidly i think that maybe if i don't believe in them, they won't exist. Won't scare me to death, shock me awake._

 _But they do. It doesn't matter if I believe in them or not. They are always there._

 _Everyone i meet now is haunted. Like something abandoned. Abandoned of hope, abandoned of light. Like every house, every street._

 _But, Judith, she isn't. When she speaks of ghosts they feel like a fantasy. A childish fear of the dark. Her innocence makes me feel better. All the noises quiet, and we are sat in our own little corner of somewhere else. The monsters are just things we imagine under our beds, and ghosts are white sheets that hide in the dark, and they can't hurt us if we don't believe in them._


End file.
